


Counting an Endless Repetition

by Xister



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Biting, Blood, Eventual Smut, First Time, Headcanon, Jewish LeFou, M/M, Minor Character Death, OCs - Freeform, Pre-Slash, Redemption, Stitches, Unhealthy Relationships, some underage frottage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 01:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xister/pseuds/Xister
Summary: A story that follows LeFou and Gaston's relationship from their childhood to post-movie. First chapter is how they meet, and subsequent chapters follow the growth and destruction of their relationship, while the last chapter will be the rebuilding of their relationship.





	1. The Heart's Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with my own personal headcannons. It started off as just simple backstory for a small redemption fic but kind of blew out of proportion. My knowledge of Jewish practices is limited to research as I am not Jewish, and LeFou being Jewish isn't a huge part of the story. If something comes across as ignorant or anti-Semitic, please let me know so I can change it immediately. 
> 
> This story will also contain some minor StanFou in upcomming chapters, but I didn't tag it because I don't want to bother their tag with an endgame GaFou fic.

LeFou lived in a small cottage near the edge of the town. It was a quaint house with only one room, a couple of windows, and one good sized fireplace for warmth and cooking. 

He could’ve added on at any point or even moved from his childhood home; but because it was exactly that, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave or change it in any major way. 

He still has his mother’s older furniture, her bedding, curtains, and even her cast iron pot that had seen much better days before his mother had even acquired it. It wasn’t an unhealthy obsession or because he couldn’t afford new things; he simply remembered how she would tell stories of her own childhood and lamented how she was unable to keep anything of sentimental value. She told stories like she was there again, experiencing it in front of her eyes and she was just saying what she saw. 

His mother was Ashkenazim and after generations of expulsions and returns to France, her family had learned to keep the most precious things close; however, after leaving Poland after her parents had died to return to her great-grandfather’s birthplace, she learned that anything connecting her to her Jewish roots would be incriminating and as such left them with distant family to protect. Other things, like her father’s stopwatch or her mother’s rings, had been sold or traded to help her journey. Once she arrived in France, she had met LeFou’s father after becoming a caretaker for his elder mother. 

After her elder employer had passed, LeFou’s father took her hand in marriage and she converted to Catholicism to further ensure that she wouldn’t be persecuted. Every time she told him the story of her origin she would admit quietly that if her mother and father had known they would’ve been ashamed of her. Though while she did convert to Catholicism, she still inwardly believed in Judaism and kept some practices. 

In fact, LeFou’s first memory is of his mother teaching him how to properly clean his hands before a meal and explaining how this kept them from becoming ill. He still did so after her passing, cleaning his hands and bathing as often as possible. 

After she had become pregnant, they moved to Villeneuve from Lyon to get away from the dirty, crowded life of the city. Shortly after arriving, she gave birth to LeFou. LeFou was not his chosen name, simply a nickname that had stuck after being clumsy and oblivious in his childhood. His birth name was Liev after her great-grandfather who loved France even after his expulsion and would describe it lovingly to her as a child. His mother was the only one to use his name and after her death he hadn’t heard it said since.

His father had purchased the land and built the cottage as a temporary living situation until he had more supplies to build onto it. Before he could though, he had been bucked from his horse and broke his neck which killed him instantly. It happened sometime after LeFou’s first birthday but before his second and so he did not remember his father. 

LeFou looked almost exactly like his mother, having the same petite height and voluptuous figure, the same curve in the bridge of his nose and the same dark brown shade of hair and eyes. When he would ask her about his father, she often described him as having light hair and blue eyes, being not much taller than her and having a handsome face. 

She would follow up with saying that LeFou had the same handsome face, but seeing his mother and himself side by side in a mirror, he knew that to be untrue. 

After his father’s death, his mother took care of him with the remaining money until the age of five, when it had run low but he was old enough to help her do chores. After so she became a maid, cleaning for the more influential families in the village; her biggest and best paying clients being Gaston’s family. 

Gaston’s father was a wealthy beer and spirits merchant who got his start in Marseilles and, at the request of his wife, moved to Villeneuve after they had their first three children. 

There they bought the tavern, supplying with their own products and quickly earned a living and name for themselves. Gaston was actually the youngest of seven children and only the second boy. His only brother was the oldest, and was fifteen years older than Gaston. When he was seventeen, he moved back to Marseilles to help take care of his father’s distilleries. Even with his brother taking the reins, for many years his father would still travel in between the two cities being gone for months at a time; leaving his wife, daughters, and youngest son. 

Their mansion was rustic, two stories not including the cellar and attic, and very, very large. It sat upon several acres of farmland along with two barns and a large chicken coup. With it being so large, it always seemed so isolating - as when LeFou’s mother had started working for them, it seemed mostly inhabited by the help. Gaston’s brother had been gone for half a decade and three out of his five sisters had already married and moved to bigger and better places. 

His mother was always dolled up and LeFou’s mother always talked about how plain she felt next to her. However, the women always seemed pleased to see one another and exchanged pleasantries when they weren’t busy. Gaston’s two remaining sisters usually were being taught how to sew and various womanly things that sounded awfully boring or managing the farm in their father’s absence. 

Usually, LeFou ran around barefoot, as to save his shoes for Sunday service or other important events to keep them from wearing down too fast; whenever he went with his mother to do chores or help her with her jobs it was no different, but the morning of her first day cleaning for the wealthiest family in the village, she made him wear his best clothing and his shoes. 

He didn’t quite understand why and it annoyed him as his shoes were slightly too small for him and pinched his toes. He complained to his mother but she shushed him and said that maybe next month he would be able to get new shoes as long as he behaved well. He felt cross the entire morning but kept it to himself for the promise of new shoes; his mother chatted away, seemingly excited about the new job, mentioning their son who was only two years older than LeFou. He asked a few, vague questions back as they walked through the bustling village and onto the path that would lead them to their destination. 

LeFou suddenly understood his mother’s excitement as they came closer to the mansion.

It seemed to loom over him as they approached; beautiful stonework and dark wood gleamed in the morning sun, awing him into silence. When they were let in the first room was a large sitting room, with a huge fireplace and a large oil painting of the family over it. 

A handsome man standing behind his sitting, comely wife, next to an older boy, surrounded by five girls of varying ages – and in the wife’s lap was a cherubic, dark haired baby.

LeFou’s eyes could not leave the painting, transfixed by this particular show of wealth.

His mother tugged him away urgently, whispering to not stare as it was rude and that they had to meet the Mistress of the house. She led him to a room that was not quite as large, but still had enough room for a gathering to sit and talk. Gaston’s mother was almost the complete opposite of his own mother; tall, thin, with thick black hair, features exaggerated by makeup, and dressed in so many layers of thick, unyielding cloth that LeFou wondered how she did anything. 

She introduced LeFou, using his actual name - as his nickname would not come about for a few years. Gaston’s mother smiled kindly and spoke to him with such a soft voice that his distress of her being mean or frightful melted away. 

She called for another servant, an older woman, to bring her son in as well. The servant was gone for a moment, but soon returned, holding a reluctant boy by the hand and brought him to stand by his mother. 

The Mistress placed a pale dainty hand on the young boy’s shoulder, “This is my youngest, Gaston.”

Gaston was tall for his age, reaching his mother’s waist at the top of his head; his hair curled slightly but was pulled back into an aristocratic ponytail, dressed in pristine, expensive clothes and shiny leather shoes. Even at a young age, his face was more handsome than cute and that that would only become more prominent as he grew older. 

LeFou’s mother complimented him and introduced her own son to Gaston. LeFou couldn’t look away from Gaston, even as the Mistress and his own mother continued talking. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t stop looking, he’d seen many other wealthy children but none had him interested like this one. 

Gaston stared back in a peculiar manner, interrupting his mother abruptly in the midst of her sentence, “Mother,” She stopped and peered down him expectantly, “Can we go play?” He was pointing at LeFou as to make sure his mother knew who he was talking about.

This made LeFou feel giddy inside, strangely not at the fact of how many nice toys and games Gaston might have but simply from being able to spend time with Gaston. 

Gaston’s mother looked over from her son to LeFou and then back to her son and gave her approval. 

LeFou looked eagerly at his mother who gave a small smile and told him to have fun. 

That was the first day of his friendship with Gaston. He was somewhat demanding, wanting to be in charge in all of the things they did; often telling LeFou what to do and how to do it. If LeFou didn’t do exactly that, either refusing or messing up his instructions, the Gaston would become slightly cruel. Not overtly so, that LeFou became afraid of him, but enough that he would apologize for not listening and promise he would do it right. 

Once, when Gaston was ten and LeFou was eight, after the established nickname had come into play, Gaston had said something so sharp and mean spirited that LeFou had run crying from whatever they were doing. He hid in the bushes until Gaston had come and found him, hugging him and apologizing. LeFou’s face turned a darker red than before and it felt like his heart would break his ribs from how hard it was pounding. He instantly forgave Gaston and apologized for ruining their game.

They started spending more time together. After Gaston was done with his tutoring and LeFou was done helping his mother they’d meet together under the large oak behind Gaston’s house and do whatever Gaston wanted to do. This usually meant causing mischief, wrestling, or fighting each other with sticks and pretending they were swords. Gaston usually won these types of games because not only was he taller and stronger but had fencing lessons twice a week.

Sometimes, Gaston didn’t want to play fighting games or play pranks; those days were few and far in between – mostly happening during sleepovers and when there were few people in the house, but sometimes Gaston would demand they go to his room and play. In his room there was only one type of game that Gaston would want to play – house. 

Gaston would demand that he was the husband and LeFou was his wife. They would play by Gaston leaving to go ‘work’ while LeFou cleaned the room. However, before Gaston would leave LeFou had to kiss him. When they first played, LeFou stuttered out a refusal, blushing heavily; Gaston countered with “Wives always kiss their husbands good bye. You want to play properly right?” His heart beat heavily in his chest as he stood up on his toes to reach Gaston’s cheek to kiss it. He barely touched his lips to Gaston’s face, just enough to feel the light hairs tickle his bottom lip. Gaston laughed, “That’s not a proper kiss, if you’re gonna do it right, you have to kiss me on the lips.” This time Gaston leaned down so LeFou didn’t have to stretch so far. LeFou quickly pecked him on the lips before avoiding the gaze of his best friend who was seemingly satisfied with it and left. For a moment, he stood there – unable to contain the giddy rush that flowed through him. When Gaston ‘came home’ and demanded another kiss, LeFou didn’t hesitate though his face still burned just as hotly as before. 

After that, when Gaston wanted to play house, LeFou got excited, butterflies in his stomach and an almost dizzying sense of happiness in his heart. To his disappointment, when Gaston turned twelve, he never wanted to play house.

But that was almost to be expected; Gaston’s sisters were all wed, his father had retired and was now keeping his son busy on hunting trips while Gaston’s mother slowly grew weaker from a slow growing infection in her abdomen. 

LeFou missed his friend while he went on these hunting trips, gone for days at a time. However his mother had reached an age when she couldn’t do quite as much as she used to, her fingers and knees painfully stiffening to a point where there were days she couldn’t walk or sew or clean; LeFou had started doing it for her and kept his time occupied. 

When his friend does come back, each time he looks matured just a bit more. It doesn’t matter the length of the trip, every day he came back looking more grown up. A little taller, more muscular, hairier, but mostly his eyes just seemed to get harder. 

Right after Gaston turns thirteen, his mother passes. LeFou remembers sitting in the cathedral beside his own mother, sitting several pews behind Gaston. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of his stony faced friend the entire time, wishing that it would just be over so he could comfort him. 

It wasn’t even until the next day that he got to see his friend. Gaston had actually come to his house, a rare occasion as LeFou was slightly embarrassed for him to see the one room cottage. He didn’t even have his own bed, his mother slept in the only bed while he slept on a straw mat on the floor. 

He had just made breakfast for his mother and himself when someone loudly knocked on the door. He opened the door, surprised to see Gaston. 

Gaston explained to them that he needed LeFou’s help doing something; he sounded as vague as possible but managed to explain it was very important and time consuming. 

LeFou’s mother nodded and told LeFou to go help his friend despite LeFou protesting slightly in worry for his mother to be by herself. 

He followed Gaston obediently until they were just off the edge of Gaston’s property in the woods. He grew nervous, asking Gaston what he needed help with.  
“Don’t be stupid, I just wanted you to myself for a while,” He answered casually, stopping to sit against a sturdy tree. The tips of LeFou’s ears grew red at Gaston’s wording, wondering what he meant by it. Sitting down next to the older boy, he looked curiously as Gaston dug through his bag.

LeFou flinched as Gaston let out a cry of victory as he procured a small bottle of whiskey from his bag. He eyed it wearily; the eleven year old had drunk diluted wine before but never anything stronger. Gaston popped off the cork and took three hearty gulps before passing it. LeFou looked up at his friend, who smirked down at him. “You’re not scared, are you?” He teased. LeFou shook his head quickly before raising the bottle to his lips taking a small swallow. 

He sputtered at the unforgiving burn and coughed harshly a few times, pushing the bottle back towards Gaston who took it back with a merry laugh. He learned that the more he drank from the bottle, the easier it became and they passed the bottle back and forth until most of it had been drunk. Eventually the bottle is forgotten as they talk about small stuff, then eventually the conversation becomes deep as Gaston talks about his mother and father. 

He tells LeFou that his father is leaving the village for good, that he’s going to go back to Marseilles since most of his children and grandchildren are there.

“He said there’s nothing keeping him here anymore,” Gaston says with a tint of bitterness, “That’s why he took me on so many hunting trips, to make me a man. He wants me to join the army – says it’ll be good for me. When I turn fourteen, I’m leaving.” LeFou sat in crushed silence, unsure what to say, overwhelmingly hurt by the thought of not seeing Gaston every day. Gaston stands up and stretches, LeFou unable to stop from staring at the tense muscles in his arms. 

Gaston whips around, startling LeFou with the sudden movement. Gaston barked out a laugh at his friend flinching causing the tipsy LeFou to start giggling. 

Gaston smiles and it’s the cocky, side smile he puts on when he’s flirting with women, LeFou stops for a moment when he recognizes it. He looks around to see if a beautiful girl appeared suddenly, but there’s no one besides him and Gaston. 

“Let’s wrestle,” Gaston challenges. He talks quickly, almost breathlessly. “Uh,” LeFou stutters for a moment, “o-okay.” He stands shakily, the sudden movement making him feel a little drunker than before. 

Gaston is in position and LeFou rushes him head on. It’s too easy for Gaston to get him down on the ground and pinned. He digs his hand cruelly into LeFou’s side where he knows LeFou is ticklish. 

LeFou laughs loudly trying to gasp for air in between shrieks to speak, “Gaston – that’s not – fair!” He wriggles one of his hands free from the grasp of Gaston’s other hand, pushing at Gaston’s face until Gaston chomps down on the skin of his palm, “Ow! Gaston!” He protests, still laughing and squirming. He suddenly stops tickling LeFou and instead grabs his wrist. 

He kisses the reddened skin where he bit the younger man before gently grasping his hand and pinning it to the ground, his grip lessening slightly on the other wrist. 

LeFou feels his face burning, staring up at Gaston with wide eyes and a slightly agape mouth, “Y-you win again, Gaston,” He concedes quietly. Gaston isn’t smiling like he was, instead staring at LeFou with something that almost seemed like fondness but not quite. 

He feels warmth spread through his chest because of it though and before his brain can catch up with his actions, he pulls himself out of Gaston’s grasp and leans up and kisses him. It’s just a quick peck, like when they played house as kids. 

Gaston pulls back and blinks. He’s silent for a moment and LeFou worries that he shouldn’t have acted as he did. But Gaston just gets up off LeFou and brushes the dirt off his pants and suggests they go fishing to pass the time. LeFou eagerly agrees and hastily trails after him, leaving the forgotten bottle of whiskey behind.

After that, Gaston demanded most of LeFou’s time while he still could have it; only leaving him alone when LeFou’s mother required his help. Occasionally, LeFou would return from town and Gaston would be there, idly leaning against the wall of the cottage or sitting at the table with his mother chatting about the weather or town drama. It was during this time that LeFou realized a very important thing.

He was in love with Gaston. 

It hit him all at once when he entered the cottage, having left before his mother awoke to buy her fresh fruit for her breakfast, and seeing Gaston help his mother up and out of bed. It was the gentlest LeFou had seen Gaston be since they became friends. He supported her elbow and shoulder helping her rise and as she shifted to the edge of the bed, she looked up and saw her son, her face lighting up. Gaston turned to see who had entered and smiled at his friend. 

“To busy to help your dear ma out of bed, LeFou?” He teased as he helped her stand and walk over to the table to sit. It made LeFou’s heart skip a beat, and he blushed before stammering out an answer on why he had been gone, holding up the basket of plums and apples. 

Gaston made a joke to his mother who laughed heartily at it; he couldn’t quite hear it over the blood rushing through his ears at the realization. They looked expectantly up at him and he chuckled lightly as though he had been listening and tried to busy himself with making oatmeal to go with the fresh fruit. His mother instructed to make extra for Gaston as well - he nodded and agreed loudly with her; the heart sinking realization made him feel gloomy inside and it showed on his face when he turned away from them.

It all made sense now; all the nervousness and blushing and heart pounding. Why he never had interest in girls like Gaston did, but certain boys he couldn’t look away from. He’d never fantasized about getting married, or having children, just spending time with Gaston – going on hunting trips or fishing or traveling. His hands trembled and a hard knot formed in his throat that hurt to swallow around. 

He pretended as nothing was wrong and went about his day, though he refrained from standing too close or even touching Gaston when they went to check his fox traps. 

That night, once his mother had fallen asleep, he quietly cried to himself.


	2. Holding the Curve of One Position

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter contains the Stanfou, blood, war, death, and underage stuff. It's obviously a pretty big chunk of the story tho, sorry bout that

It had been a little under three years since LeFou had seen Gaston. Every now and then he replays the last day they had seen each other’s faces – the last moments of Gaston smiling brightly at him, placing his trunk into the carriage, hugging LeFou tightly, and suddenly off he was, hidden from view in the carriage.

It comes to him in the most menial of times – pulling his hair back into a ponytail, cooking dinner, buying eggs, cleaning houses, even when he’s trying to fall asleep. It’s hard to shake from his mind when it does come about – plaguing him until something urgent catches his attention and he’s distracted.

Gaston hadn’t written but LeFou was unable to read or write so it would have been in vain. LeFou wishes he would write anyways, just so he knew Gaston was alive. He has nightmares – the most memorable one was after his mother had shown him how to perform sutures after she split open her foot; it had been very bloody and his hands shook as she gently instructed him. He had mended a pillow before going to bed that night and he dreamt of Gaston being sliced open by a rapier. Gaston was trying to hold his abdomen together, but he struggled and a puff of down burst forth out of him every time his blood covered hands slipped. He turned to LeFou, trying to call for help but he could only spit up feathers.

It was a ridiculous dream, but he woke from it covered in cold sweat and his heart racing. LeFou prayed to God for Gaston, praying hard and earnestly until the beginning rays of sunlight filtered in through the shutters.

Now, when he isn’t cleaning houses to earn money, helping his mother, or doing chores, he spends most of his time with the two brothers Stanley and Dick and Dick’s friend, Tom. Dick and Tom are older, in their early twenties and Stanley is younger than him by a year, but it’s still fun. They go hunting together usually – Tom and Dick teaching LeFou and Stanley how to properly set and bait traps, how to aim with a crossbow, how to skin an animal. Sometimes they drink together until wee hours of the morning, Tom and Dick belting out inappropriate limericks while Stanley and LeFou blushed and laughed.

It was almost like being with Gaston again. When Stanley and LeFou are alone, LeFou talks about Gaston. Stanley listens obediently; his large, dark eyes full of pity and understanding. He almost feels foolish during these times, but Stanley follows him like a puppy and doesn’t poke fun, and he grows to not care.

It doesn’t give him the same, heart heavy satisfaction that he had while being with Gaston but it’s enough to chase away the loneliness and so LeFou accepts it for what it is. It’s peaceful if not a little boring. He’s content enough.

Sometimes he walks by Gaston’s old house; it’s dark all the time, the barns and chicken coup are empty, the fields barren – the only thing left that makes LeFou happy is the tall oak tree. Sometimes, he climbs it, curling up amongst the branches and leaves and pretending he doesn’t exist for a couple hours.

It’s during one of these times, when he’s climbing back down after being up there for a particularly long time – it’s very late and the small slivered moon is high in the sky, that he spots something in the forest. It’s a bright, twinkling light and it takes him a moment to realize it’s a fire.

Not a very big one, perhaps a torch or campfire. He finds it odd though; the villagers know not to camp or even explore the woods down the south of town where Gaston’s house is located. It’s not rich with game and is riddled with bogs. It can be very dangerous if you don’t know the area by heart, and more than once some of their livestock had disappeared into the quicksand.

It gives him a bad feeling. When he goes to meet Tom, Dick, and Stanley for a night of drinking, he tells them about it. Stanley doesn’t think much of it, shrugging it off as a late night rendezvous for a young couple, but Tom and Dick immediately get this look in their eye. They stop drinking, Dick telling Stanley to go home and for LeFou to come with them to speak to the mayor. Stanley protests, but Dick shuts it down, telling him with a firm voice that Stanley wilts under. They find him at the church, talking to the Father about something before he headed off to go home. Tom and Dick talk to the mayor before pushing LeFou forward, and LeFou stutters out what he saw.

The mayor thanks him, telling him to go home and rest. Tom and Dick step forward, and start talking quietly with the mayor once more, their terse whispers filling LeFou with anxiety. He walks off, rather than knowing what their concerns are, he wants to just go home and lie down. His stomach was heavy with dread and he didn’t want to exacerbate it any more than need be.

His mother was already asleep when he got home, her steady, deep breaths already calming his nerves. He lies down onto his straw mat, the familiar cushion of it already allowing his eyes to droop. Listening to his mother’s even breathing lulling him to sleep. It’s a dreamless sleep, something he is grateful for.

The next day, Stanley arrives just after they’ve finished breakfast and LeFou starts cleaning. He’s sweeping the hearth when Stanley casually strolls up. It’s often that the young boy seeks LeFou out, so he isn’t surprised or bothered by it.

“Hello,” He greets pleasantly. His mother, seeing him approach from where she sat at the table, cried out her own hello from the open window.

“Hello,” Stanley replies lightly, waving at LeFou’s mother from where he stood. The younger just stood there for a moment watching LeFou sweep. This made LeFou slightly irritated – Stanley staring annoyed him - he did it a lot and only when he was prompted to say something would he say what was on his mind.

“Is there a reason you came over?” He asked, voice slightly exasperated. He put the broom inside and went around back to the pump, it was Saturday and he needed to scrub the floors. Stanley followed him obediently and it wasn’t until they were around behind the cottage that he spoke.

“I overheard Dick and Pa talking last night,” He whispers, urgently, “The light you saw might be marauders. Apparently they’ve been moving through the countryside and they’ve already destroyed Piana and Dinan. Only a few survivors.”

LeFou’s blood runs cold, Dinan was not too far from Villeneuve – maybe a day’s trip.

Stanley continues, noticing the look of horror on LeFou’s face, “The king’s men are already headed down here though – maybe a day’s march away. They sent a small squadron to deal with them, apparently worried that either Villeneuve or Lourmarin would be next.”

LeFou relaxes after a moment, pumping water vigorously into the tin bucket. “Do they know whose leading the squadron?” He asks after a moment, curious to see if it would be a captain he had heard of from Gaston’s stories of the parties they held with military guests.

Stanley shrugged in response. LeFou stands with the pail, sloshing water onto the ground as he did so.

“Thanks for letting me know Stanley, but I have to do my chores now,” He pauses looking at the boy, “You can come back later though, when the sun is a bit higher, I should be done then.” Stanley, seemingly bummed about the first part of his sentence, brightens immediately.

“Alright LeFou! Maybe we could go fishing today?” He asks hopefully. Tom and Dick didn’t have the patience for fishing, so it was usually just LeFou and Stanley.

He smiles halfheartedly, “Sure.” Before turning and walking around the side of the cottage. His mother is feeling particularly well today, mending a pair of LeFou’s stockings. He takes a moment to check her foot; it’s healed very nicely since he removed the stitches.

He grabs the thick bristled brush from beside the fireplace, starting in the farthest corner of their home. The floor isn’t particularly dirty in the summer months, so he doesn’t scrub hard but it still makes his back ache and his knees sore. After that he empties and rinses the bucket, filling it one more and emptying it into the large cast iron pot until its filled, starting a small fire underneath. Once the water is heated enough, he carefully pours it into the large metal tub they used for cleaning clothes and bathing.

Taking a small bar of lye soap and their wooden washboard, he sets to doing their laundry. He’s glad it’s warm outside so he can hang them all out to dry, instead of having to dry them one by one in front of the fire. It doesn’t take him long to wash everything and while they’re hanging, his mother helps him pull the tub out the door to dump it.

He makes the bed to give his hands a break from the hot water, before carefully gathering the dirty dishes about and cleaning them in a smaller tub at the table, laying them to dry in the sunlight.

By the time he’s done, his hands are raw and red; so his mother rubs the floral scented oil that he had gotten her for her birthday onto his hands. It soothes the burn enough that he can continue the last of the cleaning, just dusting and organizing. Then, to finish his chores he goes out to the garden to weed and water, washing his face and hands after to rid him of the dirt.

Afterwards, he sits with his mother while she sews, idly chatting. She asks what Stanley wanted earlier, LeFou gives a vague answer that he wanted to go fishing when LeFou was done - purposely leaving out the marauders and the fire he saw last night.

“I heard something peculiar the other day from Clothilde while I was in town,” She starts, LeFou makes a face at the mention of the irate woman, “Marauders making their way through the French countryside. They’ve burned Piana to the ground, not many people lived, if any.”

He tries not to let it show on his face that he already knows or let her know that they’ve burnt down Dinan too. She would worry too much and stress herself out. He feigns surprise, asking if she had heard anything else.

“They’re sending troops to deal with them, one is being sent Villeneuve, just for good measure,” She sighs, “It’s a very nasty business. I hate the thought of it.” He hummed in response, keeping his face down.

His stomach growled, but he wasn’t in the mood to make something so he settled on an apple. He bit into the crisp flesh, looking out the window at the lovely summer day. His mother hummed behind him and he heard the click of scissors as she cut the thread.

“Do you think Gaston is okay, Mama?” He asks suddenly, taking another bite out of the apple, chewing quickly before adding, “We don’t ever really know what’s happening outside of Villeneuve. The only time we realize there’s a war is when taxes are raised.”

She gently set the scissors down, folding his stockings and laying them down as well before answering, “I don’t think God plans to take him away until you get to see each other again,” She admitted thoughtfully, glancing at him with. He nodded, the simple answer comforting him. He focuses on eating his apple before his mother glances at him again.

“Braid your hair back, Liev, it’s getting out of control,” She scolds lightly. He smiles at her, setting his mostly eaten apple on the table, hands flying to his hair to braid it back, securing it with a thin ribbon.

Stanley comes back not too soon after that, two fishing poles in hand and a bucket filled with worms and an empty bucket for the fish. He explains how he spent all morning catching them, LeFou doesn’t doubt him – his dirty hands, clothes, and face telling enough.

Stanley chats idly, unusual in itself for the younger boy. LeFou figured that out of his brother’s shadow he was generally more open. They walked to the particular pond they liked to fish from, not ten minutes from LeFou’s home. They quietly bait their hooks, casting their lines and sitting. About five minutes go by; LeFou listens to the sounds of birds and insects. He feels eyes on him and he turns his head to look at Stanley, blatantly staring at LeFou’s face.

“Hm?” He hums questioningly, meeting Stanley’s eye. The tips of Stanley’s ears go red and he quickly looks back to the water.

“I noticed your hair is braided, you don’t usually wear it like that,” He explains, almost nervously. LeFou self-consciously touches the braid, remembering his mother’s words.

“Oh, yeah, it was wild earlier,” He explains, “It bothered, Ma.” He goes to undo it, but Stanley’s hand quickly grasps his own.

“No!” And then, embarrassed by his outburst he snatches his hand away quickly, whispering, “You should leave it, you look good with your hair like that.” He stares hard at the water, seemingly invested in not looking at LeFou.

LeFou stared for a moment, but pulled his hand away from his braid, a shy smile covering his face. He looks back at the water, out of the corner of his eye seeing Stanley smile too.

“Your hand was really soft,” Stanley says after a moment, still not looking at LeFou.

“Thanks,” He chirps, glancing sideways at the younger boy. Stanley glances at him the same time and his face reddens but he laughs.

LeFou laughs with him. A satisfying feeling washes over him, for the first time since Gaston left. Maybe he doesn’t need Gaston to be happy, maybe he can be just as happy with Stanley. A new feeling of hope emerges from the thought and he turns to stare at Stanley openly, admiring his pretty face.

Stanley looks like his mother, with his full lips and doe eyes, but his hair curls like his dad’s and his jawline is strong like his father’s too. Gaston looked like his father, through and through, masculine and sharp. It was an odd thing, being attracted to someone with feminine features.

His heart beats fast at the realization, and he turns quickly away, staring at the calm surface of the water. He thought maybe his attraction to men was only an attraction to Gaston. But it couldn’t be, while there were some similarities between the two of them, Stanley didn’t look that alike to Gaston and his personality was the complete opposite. No girl had ever caught his attention, no matter how beautiful the other guys might say they were, he could see it and appreciate it but it never got his heart beating fast. Sometimes he would catch himself looking at the older boys, especially when they worked, and now he’s realized his attraction to Stanley – it seems it wasn’t a onetime thing as he’d thought.

His heart sinks and he folds in on himself, slouching over. Stanley, immediately noticing the change in mood, turns to him, “What’s the matter, LeFou? We don’t have to fish if you don’t want to.”

He looks concerned, brows furrowed upward. LeFou shakes his head, “No it’s not that.” One corner of his mouth twists downwards as he pursues his lips.

“Then what is it?” He asks kindly, staring at LeFou with a soft, open expression. He feels bad, Stanley is always concerned for him, wants to know what LeFou is feeling, wants to make it better if he can, but LeFou can’t tell him. LeFou would at the very least alienate his friend and at worst he’d be hanged if Stanley told others.

It’s easier to just shake his head, mutter “Nothing,” and ignore the hurt, worried expression. Stanley sits quiet for a moment, but turns back to LeFou once more.

“Is it Gaston? Are you missing him?” He probes, voice as soft as before, “Did you have another nightmare about him dying?”

“No,” He exclaims quickly – Stanley leans back slightly at his tone. He sighs before continuing in a gentler voice, “No, I just…I can’t talk about it. It’s private and…damning.” LeFou winces at his wording, worried that Stanley might figure something out along those lines if he thinks hard enough.

Stanley leans back completely, pursing his lips while he stares at the water. He finally speaks after a moment, reeling his line in and setting his pole down, “What if I told you something bad about me first? Something I’ve only confessed to God?”

LeFou shifts uncomfortably, “I can’t ask you to do something like that-”

Stanley cuts in, “I’ve been wanting to talk to someone for a while ‘bout it, but you’re the only person I trust enough to tell. But you have to promise not tell anyone or think differently of me.” He stares at LeFou with big, vulnerable eyes and LeFou can’t bring himself to tell Stanley no.

“I promise,” He whispers. Stanley looks around nervously, straining his ears to listen for anyone close by.

Hearing and seeing nothing, he leans in close to LeFou, “I don’t like girls.” He leans back, gauging LeFou’s reaction.

LeFou stares unblinking at him before speaking, “Maybe…you just don’t like the girls in the village?” He offers, but Stanley is shaking his head.

“No, I don’t any girls. But…I like boys, I think,” He looks at the ground when he speaks, fingers twitching in the dirt.

LeFou stares at him hard, relief pouring through him. He wasn’t the only one – he wasn’t alone. His eyes misted and he let go of his fishing pole, tugging Stanley close to him.

Stanley flinches but wraps his arms around LeFou’s shoulders, squeezing tightly.

“Me too,” LeFou whispers, “I like men too.” Stanley laughs, short and happy, burying his face into LeFou’s neck. He can feel wetness, like Stanley is crying. It makes him cry a little bit too, a couple tears streaming down his face.

He pulls away after a moment, rubbing at his eyes. Stanley is scrubbing at his own face with his sleeve, smiling so brightly that it makes LeFou giddy, and he smiles back. A sudden noise breaks them out of their reverie, and their heads whip around to see LeFou’s pole being dragged through the grass.

“No!” LeFou cries out, half laughing. He dives for it and snatches the pole up, yanking it back as he reels it in. Stanley is rolling around in the grass behind him, laughing the hardest LeFou has ever heard him laugh. He’s laughing too and it’s the happiest he’s been in years, he thinks.

He reels it in completely and Stanley stops rolling about to help him unhook it. It’s too small to be eaten, so they throw it back into the pond.

Stanley doesn’t move away when the fish was back in the water, instead turning to LeFou. He looked nervous again and LeFou’s heart sped up as he moved closer, mouth opening to ask something of LeFou.

“Will you kiss me?” He whispers, blushing across the whole of his face. LeFou doesn’t answer, but cups Stanley’s face in his hands. He has to lean up to kiss him, the younger boy already taller than him by a few inches.

Their eyes close simultaneously and Stanley sighs out of his nose as their lips meet. It only lasts for a few seconds, their lips parting with nearly silent pop.

LeFou pulls his hands away and swallows hard, his eyes opening to Stanley staring at him with such an affectionate look that it makes his heart ache. Gaston had never looked at him like that; whenever they kissed he had a crooked grin and a mischievous gleam in his eyes, afterwards always smug or indifferent.

Stanley tangles their fingers together, “I like you, LeFou.” He’s so serious and sweet that LeFou can’t look him in the face, overwhelmed. Stanley grasps his chin lightly, lifting up his face so that he can look him in the eye. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” Stanley whispers.

LeFou pulls away, but keeps their hands together, “I’ve - I’ve only ever really felt that way about one person.” He doesn’t have to say who, but Stanley knows anyways.

He nods, but squeezes LeFou’s hand. “Will you…will you try?” He asks earnestly. LeFou looks into his eyes for a moment before nodding. A wide grin spreads across Stanley’s face, his eyes lighting up with it.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, much less bashful than the first time. LeFou nods again and their lips meet again. This time Stanley moves his lips and LeFou quickly catches on; the only sounds were the soft sounds of them kissing and their hearts beating hard in their ears.

It lasted longer than their first kiss, and when they broke apart they gasped for air both having held their breath. The corner of Stanley’s mouth tugs up, staring at LeFou with hooded eyes. LeFou smiles back, taking in the details of Stanley’s face. The small freckles scattered across his face, the shade of pink his lips are, the deep brown of his eyes, the small scar on his chin – memorizing every detail to heart.

What they had was dangerous and it could be ripped apart in a moment if the wrong person found them, so LeFou wanted to remember what Stanley looked like in this moment while they’re both happy.

They break away after that, going back to their original plan of fishing. LeFou catches Stanley staring at him and vice versa, laughing when they caught each other.

He doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

Afterwards, Stanley walks him home; it’s silent, but pleasant and every time they catch each other’s eye a sly smile crosses their faces.

As they reach LeFou front door, Stanley holds out the bucket so LeFou can scoop out a fish for his mother and him. Holding the limp fish in one hand, he smiles and pleasantly says his goodbye; Stanley returns it before heading back to his own house, whistling a tune as he did so.

He cleans the fish for supper - his mother is delighted at the prospect of fresh fish. He’s in such a good mood and his mother senses it, taking joy from his cheerful company.

LeFou fries carrots to go with it, serving his mother and then himself. They wash their hands before sitting at the table and his mother starts the prayer. LeFou looks upon his mother, a feeling of love washing over him. It comes to him at random times, when his mother is sitting and knitting, or mending clothing, or eating. Not for the first time, he wishes to confess to her his secret.

At first it was just about having feelings for Gaston, but since he realized the truth – that it was not just Gaston, but men in general – the urge to tell her dredges up in his chest.

She notices him staring, and jokingly says, “What is it, Liev? Do I have something on my face?” When he doesn’t smile, she tilts her head and reaches for his hand. He grasps it firmly in return, and she leans forward slightly, “If there is something wrong, you know you can tell me.”

LeFou sighs and stares at the table as he speaks, “I…have a secret.”

Her face turns concerned and she squeezes his hand comfortingly, “There is nothing that you can tell me that would make me stop loving you.”

He swallows thickly, pulling his hand from hers. Surely this would be the one exception. He looks at her in the eye, before his confidence fails and he glances about, forcing the words from his chest quickly, “I’m in love with a man,” He pauses, inhaling shakily, “I’m not attracted to women at all, o-only men.”

His eyes water as he speaks, a hard lump forming in his throat. She sits back into her chair, staring at him blankly for a moment. He shuts his eyes, unwilling to see the shame come over her face. He waited for her to disown him, throw him out, leave him to be alone in his shame – but none of that happens.

“Liev, look at me,” She commands softly. He opens his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I married a gentile, that is considered a sin in the Torah,” She says, and he furrows his brows in confusion, “But I knew that God had made him my soulmate. I knew in my heart that this gentle, beautiful feeling could not be a sin.”

She reaches her hand out for him to take it once more, which he does, before continuing, “If you feel it in your heart, and you feel that it is pure, then cherish it – because it is a gift from God.”

His free hand covers his eyes, sobbing in relief. She squeezes his hand tightly while he cries. Finally, when the tears stop coming, he scrubs at his face with his sleeve, unable to stop the cheek splitting grin.

“How about a cup of tea after dinner?” She prompts, letting go of his hand. He nods and they start eating again. It’s an amiable silence – a LeFou’s heart feels lighter than air.

This might be the best day of his life; he finds another guy who’s like him and his mother accepts him.

It’s almost too perfect.

That night he falls asleep easily, happy but emotionally exhausted after the day’s events.

The next day he rises early for mass, immediately brushing out his hair and braiding it. He liked Sundays; church was usually peaceful, he liked looking nice, and that night was when he would get to take a private bath instead of having to go to the public bathhouse.

He wakes up his mother and goes to dress behind the partition screen. When he’s fully dressed, his mother gets out of bed to dress as well while he cooks breakfast. He fries some eggs and beef tongue, and his mother washes her hands and sits while she waits for the food to be done.

They eat quickly and make their way to the church – the large bell tolling. They aren’t late by any means, though most of the town has already collected. He sees Stanley and smiles, Stanley smiles and gives a small wave back. They sit near the back and wait for it to begin.

The sermon was gentle, talking of loving your neighbors and banding together in this small period of fear against the marauders. It had apparently spread through the whole town, but with Clothilde involved, nothing was a secret for long.

Stanley catches him afterwards before he and his mother are too far off, grabbing his shoulder to obtain his attention.

“Hey, I just wanted to know if you were free today,” Stanley inquires, almost rushed and nervous. LeFou smiles at him to sooth his nerves, “I am, just come by after you’ve eaten and changed.” Stanley sighs in relief, nodding enthusiastically.

Stanley’s mother calls his name and he turns to leave, smiling widely at LeFou. LeFou and his mother continue their walk back and she turns to him, “You and Stanley are close now, hm?”

She has a small smile on her face and he knows what she’s implying. “Kind of,” He shrugs, teasing her. She laughs loudly and they continue on in silence.

LeFou allows her to change into more casual clothes first before he does so himself. While he’s still changing behind the screen, his mother calls out to him, saying she’s going to town to visit with some friends.

He acknowledges that he heard her, continuing to change. LeFou doesn’t expect Stanley for a while, so he busies himself with organizing his mother’s sewing supplies.

He’s not even halfway done when a knock on the door startles him. He peers out of the window, smiling when he see Stanley standing at his door.

LeFou opens the door widely, allowing Stanley to enter. Stanley peers around the cottage, as he’s never really been inside long enough to look around before.

“Where’s your mother?” He asks, sitting down at the table. “In town, visiting friends,” LeFou answers, joining Stanley. He smiles at LeFou, whose hands twist together almost nervously as he contemplated telling Stanley what happened last night.

LeFou sighs deeply, before turning to Stanley, “I told Mother.” Stanley’s eyes widen in horror, his mouth dropping open in protest, “What?” It’s almost more shout than question, startling the older boy.

“Shh, keep your voice down,” He scolds, “Not about us, or you. Just about me. Though I think she has suspicions about us.”

Stanley visibly relaxes, though his eyes are still full of fear, “How…did she react?”

LeFou laughs cheerfully, smiling at the memory, “She told me that if I feel it in my heart than it must be from God and I should cherish it.”

Stanley’s mouth drops in shock, his eyes are confused. LeFou chuckles at the boy’s expression, “I know, I was confused at first too.”

He slowly starts to smile, gripping LeFou’s hand, “I’m glad for you.”

LeFou nods, “Though I don’t think we should tell anyone else.”

Stanley shakes his head quickly, “If my mother found out I think she’d beat me until I bled out – or my father would.” LeFou smiles ruefully at him, squeezing his friend’s hand tightly.

“We should go for a walk,” He suggests, “Get away from town for a moment.” Stanley hesitates, their sermon had ended with the Father asking everybody to stay away from the woods as often as possible until it was heard that the raiders had been dealt with.

But the look that LeFou was giving him persuaded him soon enough and he agreed.

They walk out east of town, following a small trail. Once they’ve decided they’re out far enough, they hold hands again – interlacing their fingers. Stanley brings their joined hands to his mouth, kissing LeFou’s knuckles.

“I see you braided your hair again,” Stanley says, smiling warmly. LeFou blushes a bit at the observation, after a moment he says, “You said you liked it, so I just thought that I might do it again today.”

Stanley glances down at him, “I do like it,” He states, “It’s cute - you’re cute.” LeFou rolls his eyes in response.

“You are,” He insists, squeezing LeFou’s hand. “Okay,” LeFou says sarcastically, raising his eyebrows.

Stanley tuts, whirling around in front of LeFou to face him, forcing the other to come to a stop. LeFou stares challengingly at him, “What?” He asks, amused and exasperated at the same time.

Stanley tilts his head slightly, causing his curls to bounce in an endearing way. “I’m just looking at your cute face,” He teases, smiling.

“Oh, I see,” He replies, “How’s that going for you?” Stanley’s smile widens, leaning in to kiss LeFou.

“Hmm, it’s going pretty well,” He says after pulling away slightly, “I think it might get better though.”

“Oh?” LeFou mumbles, even as Stanley closes the gap again. They stay like that for a while, in their own little world.

The sudden crunch of footsteps breaks their focus and they quickly spring apart. A figure to the left of them emerges from the woods, musket in hand.  
He has it aimed at them – a tall, tanned man with a bushy beard. He’s not one of the villagers and their hearts palpitate as their brains make the connection.

The marauder says something in a language that’s not French, too quickly for them to even decipher where words began and ended.

Stanley immediately moves in front of LeFou, the shorter boy grabbing onto his shirt. “LeFou, run,” He mutters, keeping his eyes trained on the stranger in front of them. LeFou grasps tighter to him, “I’m not leaving you.”

Stanley opened his mouth once more to urge LeFou, but the sudden whistle of an arrow cuts through their thoughts. The man’s head lolls as he jerks sideways, the arrow in his throat a surprise to all of them. His musket falls from his hands as his hands go to his throat.

LeFou and Stanley stare on in horror as the man gurgles, falling to his knees. There’s so much blood, spurting out onto the dirt and grass, even the toes of Stanley’s shoes. They take small steps backwards as the man tries to crawl towards them, reaching for them; he stops, his hand falling into the dirt as his life ends.

The sound of horse hooves trotting towards them catches their attention and they quickly whip their heads to the side where the arrow had come from.

A man on a tall, white horse appears leading a small fraction of men. He has a crossbow resting against his shoulder, looking smugly upon the dead man in the dirt.

Stanley and LeFou relax, the squadron having the royal insignia on their jackets. They turn to look up at the man who saved them, who is turning his attention towards them as well. LeFou’s eyes widen as recognition takes over, looking at the dark haired, arrogant Captain.

“Gaston?”

~~

LeFou sat in the tavern, his mother sat next to him clinging almost painfully to his arm. It certainly could be worse, Stanley’s mom wouldn’t let him go from her chest, clinging to him and every time he tried to pull away, she pulled him back with unrelenting strength, wailing pitifully about how her son almost died.

They had walked into town with the troop, almost shamefully; Gaston had notified the mayor at once, who’d gathered the townspeople at the tavern. Then Gaston boastfully told the story of Stanley and LeFou being at the mercy of one of the marauders and how he had saved them.

It was rather grandiose in the retelling, but even then, only a few of the foot soldiers rolled their eyes, smiling respectfully at their captain. The villagers hanged onto every word, staring in disbelief at the mischievous young boy they had once knew became a captain.

LeFou could hardly believe it himself, unable to tear his eyes away from Gaston. He was as tall as a grown man now, taller than his own father, the red military coat accentuated his broad shoulders and tapered waist, stubble growing in evenly, and his hair, swept into a ponytail, was longer than his shoulders. Any trace of baby fat or innocence had disappeared; Gaston looked and acted as if he was a grown man.

LeFou was not even as tall as his mother, he could only grow a thin mustache that he’d preferred to shave off, and he felt awkward and clumsy all the time – as if his limbs could not listen to him and do their job properly.

Gaston had no problem with this, swaggering around, beer stein in hand, never even spilling a drop on himself. He exuded confidence as he always had, like he never had any awkward years - God, it was attractive.

Gaston never gave him a second glance as he looked over the room though. A heart sinking realization came over him; what if Gaston finally decided he was too good to be friend with LeFou?

With that thought, he sighed deeply, leaning against his mother’s shoulder. He stared at the wooden table in front of him, ready to leave the tavern and just be at home the rest of the day. His mother shifted, the hand previously holding his arm in a death grip coming up to rest on his head, stroking the side of his face.

Perhaps she wasn’t so mad anymore; he recalls the pure fury on her face when she found what happened. He’d never been hit by his mother, but if she ever were to hit him, it would have been then. Gaston had finished telling the story and was now discussing their plans with the mayor. He wasn’t boisterously talking as he had been, but loud enough that anyone who wanted to hear, could. LeFou glanced up from the table to Gaston, staring wistfully for a moment before over to Stanley. He was finally free from his mother’s smothering embrace, though she still clung to his arm, and staring at LeFou with a mixture of concern and something akin to sadness.

He was about to go over and talk to Stanley when Gaston moves into his field of vision, completely blocking Stanley from view. LeFou lifts his head from his mother’s shoulder and reluctantly looks up at Gaston’s face and into his eyes; to his surprise, Gaston’s face is softened, smiling lightly at LeFou.

His heart beats quicker as Gaston sits down at the small table in the chair opposite of them, greeting his mother first before turning to LeFou.

“How’ve you been, LeFou? Asides from earlier,” He speaks much quieter now, keeping all of his focus on LeFou. He’s got his trademark smirk on his face, but like the rest of him, it’s matured in its attractiveness.

“I’ve been fine,” He says, unable to keep eye contact, eyes bouncing around the room. Gaston laughs and it strikes LeFou that his voice is much deeper than it was before he left,

“Just fine? Don’t have any stories for you best friend after these two years?”

LeFou glances at his friend’s face, a small smile spreading across his face, “Oh, I don’t know,” He shrugs, “I’ve just been hanging ‘round Tom, Dick, and Stanley. Took over cleaning houses for Mama. There’s not much that happens around here, you know that.”

Gaston nods in agreement, “No lucky lady then?” He has a peculiar look in his eye when he asks. The question throws LeFou off a bit, not quite knowing why he would ask something like that.

His mother smiles knowingly and he catches it out of the corner of his eye.

“Uh, n-no, I’ve not really been looking for a- a lady,” He answers, nudging his mother lightly with his elbow.

“You said you started cleaning houses?” Gaston asks after a moment, taking a hefty gulp from his stein.

LeFou glances over at Stanley, whose now talking to Dick and occasionally side-eyeing their table. Gaston sets his stein back down with a solid thump that causes LeFou’s attention to be brought back to the conversation at hand.

“Uh, yeah, it’s not as good paying as what it was, but it’s something to get by on. Mama’s joints hurt too much for her to do it,” LeFou manages to reply while looking Gaston in the eye and not stuttering.

“I suppose that house of mine has been pretty empty,” He starts, “I imagine it’s pretty dusty, probably needs a good scrubbing.”

LeFou nods, knowing where Gaston was headed.

“It wouldn’t be too much to ask of you to clean it, would it? I’ll pay you good,” He leans in, watching LeFou’s face carefully.

“I can do that, when did you want me to start? I usually clean Monday through Wednesday but-”

Gaston cuts him off, “Today, if it’s not too late. My men and I need somewhere to sleep tonight and the tavern doesn’t have enough rooms.”

LeFou felt anxious at the thought of cleaning that entire house in the matter of a few hours, but he had already told Gaston he would and he wouldn’t back out of his word.

“I should get started right away, then. I’ll need to walk Mama home.” He stands, offering his mother his arm. Gaston stands as well, setting his stein down.

“I’ll accompany you, just allow me to let my second in command know where I am going,” Gaston says. LeFou can see the physical change as his soft expression hardens and his shoulders square when he walks over to a group of his men, talking to a stout, dark skinned man with an impressive beard.

His mother holds onto his arm and they waited patiently for Gaston to return to them. Then, he followed them out the door, a hand resting politely against his mother’s back.

The walk back to LeFou’s cottage was pleasant, the sun shining down and pleasantly warming them. As soon as his mother was safely inside, Gaston loops his arm around LeFou’s shoulder, pulling him tightly to his side.

LeFou squeaks, unable to stop it and looks up at Gaston with wide eyes. Gaston doesn’t say anything, just keeps LeFou pressed against him. LeFou, in turn, wraps his arm around Gaston’s waist. The dizzy feeling that he hadn’t felt since Gaston left rushes over him, along with a wave of nostalgia.

“When you clean, just focus on the bedrooms and sitting room,” Gaston says, “They just need a floor to sleep on and a fireplace to keep them warm. All the mattresses will need to be tossed I imagine, if rats are still bad as they are.”

LeFou nods in agreement. Until he realizes Gaston can’t see him nod if he’s not looking at him and answers with a soft, “Yeah.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten much taller, LeFou, with how you eat, you’d think you’d be almost as tall as me,” He mentions casually. LeFou can feel his face burn at the implication - he’s always been short and fat, no matter what he tried to do to grow taller and lose weight.

He goes to pull away, off put by the comment, but Gaston’s only tugs him back. His grip gets tighter, not uncomfortably so, but enough to show his actual strength.

“Relax,” Gaston murmurs into his ear, “I like how short and soft you are.” His lips brush LeFou’s ear as he spoke, causing LeFou to freeze and glance around.

There was no one about but they weren’t exactly hidden from view, walking through the village.

Gaston, noticing his reaction, pulls away completely, taking a step to the side. LeFou shivers slightly at the loss of Gaston’s warm body.

“There’s another thing I want to ask you,” Gaston starts, his face serious, “When we set up camp tomorrow, I want you to come with me, be my aide.”

“I- uh…” LeFou didn’t know how to answer. He really wanted to be by Gaston’s side, but watching that man bleed to death had been overwhelmingly horrifying to him.

“We have a number of volunteers to help my men through these woods,” He explains, “You would just have to stay at camp, feed us, keep us clean.”

LeFou flashbacks to when he and Gaston would play house; he accepts. Gaston smiles and LeFou smiles back, unable to help himself.

They continue walking, Gaston starts telling the story of how he saw a horse gore an Austrian soldier. LeFou turns to him in horror, denying that Gaston ever saw such a thing. He didn’t even quite know where Austria was, or if they were allies, but it made his stomach churn all the same.

Gaston insisted on it, saying the mare had to be killed later for its insatiable bloodlust. LeFou frowned, disgusted; he had never really liked horses before and now he didn’t think he could ever stand to be around one.

There were six bedrooms total, including Gaston’s, plus the main sitting room when they walked into the house so LeFou wasn’t so discouraged at how long it would take him to clean. He did wish he could’ve brought Stanley along though; Stanley would’ve helped him clean and grounded him.

He didn’t know if he could focus on cleaning if Gaston would hover about the entire time.

When they reached Gaston’s home, the first thing Gaston wanted was to bring out all the mattresses. There were only two total, as the rest had been removed as each family member had left. They dumped them on the front lawn, holes chewed through the thick fabric, allowing the stuffing to fall out gratuitously.

After that, LeFou made his way to the backroom, by the kitchen where most of their cleaning supplies were stored.

He gathered the broom, a large bucket, a long handled mop, and several rags. All of the feather dusters had been eaten by moths, so he’d just decided to clean the dust like he would dirt.

He swept floors first, making sure to catch all the loose down from the mattresses, sweeping the mess down the stairs and out the door. Next he went out around back to one of the water faucets, pumping the handle until water that eventually ran clear came through, filling the bucket. Dampening the rags, he cleaned the dusty tops of tables and chairs and mantles, rinsing and wringing the rags several times. When he was done, the water was a murky grey, so he dumped it out and quickly filled it again, moving on to mopping the floors.

During this time, Gaston had strangely disappeared. He had not heard his friend leave at any time, or heard his footsteps echo, so he should be in the house. LeFou didn’t think much of it; this was Gaston’s childhood home and he supposed the overwhelming nostalgia of it all, coming back to a bare house after being gone at war for almost three years, would be a bit much for anyone to handle. Even Gaston.

After a couple hours, the last bit of floor to be mopped is mopped, and he seeks out his friend. It’s still daylight out, though only for a couple more hours.

“Gaston?” LeFou calls wearily, making his way upstairs as the search downstairs proved to be futile.

“In here.” It’s faint, coming from the back of the hallway, where Gaston’s mother’s sitting room is.

Gaston is sitting on one of the sheet covered lounging sofas, a bottle of liquor in his hand. He pats the seat beside him for LeFou sit down as well. He does and notices the bottle of liquor is already halfway gone, though he has no idea where Gaston might’ve gotten it and how full it might’ve been beforehand.

“I found it in the cellar, unopened,” Gaston grins while he speaks as though he found buried treasure. That answers LeFou’s question and he winces.

“I’m done cleaning,” LeFou says softly, unsure what Gaston wants for him to do now. Gaston’s head lolls over so he can look at LeFou fully.

“Did you miss me?” Gaston asks, staring at LeFou with such a vulnerable look that it makes LeFou’s heart jump into his throat. It throws him off, but he it wasn’t unusual for  
Gaston to talk about something completely different than the topic on hand.

He swallows thickly before answering, “Yes.” Gaston nods, before asking, “How much? How much did you miss me?”

LeFou doesn’t quite know what Gaston is looking for in his answer, so he answers honestly, “Some days, I missed you so much that I didn’t want to do anything but lay in bed.”

Gaston shifts to lean on his side towards LeFou.

“Even with Stanley’s company, you missed me?” His stare has a hard edge to it and he says Stanley’s name with a grimace.

LeFou frowns slightly, but answers with a “Yes.” Gaston looks down and sighs heavily, like he’s dealing with the weight of a great burden. LeFou’s curiosity gets the better of him and he softly asks, “Did you miss me too?”

Gaston looks at him and lightly grabs his hand, “Sometimes the thought of you was the only thing that kept me going.” That makes his heart skip a beat, his eyes widening at the confession.

The look in Gaston’s eyes change into a more mischievous nature, and he sets the bottle on the floor.

“Come here,” He demands softly, waving his fingers towards him in a ‘come hither’ motion. LeFou scoots closer, closing the few inches of distance until their sides are pressed together. He leans his head against the back of the couch so he can still see Gaston’s face.

Gaston’s hand reaches up, cupping LeFou’s face, his thumb stroking his soft jaw. LeFou breath hitches as Gaston leans down, pressing his lips lightly against LeFou’s.

LeFou clings tightly to the lapels of Gaston’s jacket, his eyes slipping shut, tugging Gaston closer to him. Gaston’s hands curl behind LeFou’s neck, holding him in place.

Their lips moved in tandem, the soft noises almost echoing in the empty room. LeFou mewls when Gaston pulls away; he opens his eyes to look up at the Captain. The younger  
boy sighs softly, still holding tightly onto Gaston’s jacket, afraid that if he let go that Gaston would disappear.

Gaston gently grasps his hands, pulling his hands away from the fabric. “Lay back,” He says softly. LeFou does as told, lying back flat against the couch, his knees bent. Gaston’s hands trail down his stocking covered calves, slipping his leather heels off, tossing them carelessly to the ground. He then slips off his jacket, draping it over the back of the couch.

LeFou doesn’t say anything but his heart beats nervously. Gaston drapes his body over LeFou’s, using his hands to brace against the couch, kissing him softly. Feeling the thumping of his heart against his chest, Gaston pulls away.

“Are you nervous?” Gaston asks, he looks almost amused. LeFou shakes his head, afraid Gaston might stop completely if he admitted to it.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” He says gently. He kisses LeFou more intensely, his tongue darting out to lick LeFou’s bottom lip.

One of Gaston’s hands pushes up underneath LeFou’s shirt, undoing one of the clasps of his suspenders. LeFou’s eyebrows furrow together as he undoes the other clasp.

Gaston pulls away, pushing his shirt up over his stomach. LeFou flushes at the attention, his hands moving from Gaston’s shoulders to his belly self-consciously.

“Don’t hide from me,” Gaston croons, pulling LeFou’s hands away. LeFou puts his hands by his side, clenching at the sheet.

Gaston then pulls his pants down, just enough so that his belly button is exposed. Gaston rubs his stomach appreciatively, grabbing and squeezing hard enough to leave red prints. He dips his head down, sloppily kissing over the slope of his stomach, stopping right above his belly button, sucking the supple skin into his mouth to bite down harshly.

LeFou cries out and jerks away, hands going from the sheet to Gaston’s shoulders, squeezing harshly at the influx of pain. Gaston didn’t let go, sucking harder to undoubtedly leave a bruise.

LeFou whimpered, he’d been half hard before, but surprisingly, the pain caused him to harden further. He bucks his hips, craving friction. At the movement Gaston pulls off of his stomach with a pop, leaning back up.

LeFou is worried that he did something wrong, but a quick glance down assures him he’s not the only one affected. Gaston hurriedly undoes his own pants first before undoing  
LeFou’s. Leaning back down over the younger, he kisses him hungrily, rolling his hips down.

They groan in unison from the increase in contact, desperately grinding against one another. LeFou’s legs wrap around Gaston’s hips, pulling him closer and squeezing tightly as he nears his release.

When it does come, it overcomes him so intensely that he can’t do anything but whimper. Gaston mouthing at his neck is nearly lost in the sensation of it all. When he comes down, he opens his eyes to catch the last of Gaston’s orgasm. He’s silent, but the trembling of his body and the intense look in his eyes tells it all.

As they catch their breath, they keep eye contact. LeFou can’t help the look of love in his eyes, even as Gaston does not mirror it, instead looking guarded.

Now, noticeably more sober, Gaston rises off his friend and the couch altogether, taking the corner of the sheet to wipe off any residual cum.

“I better return to my men,” He mutters as he buttons his pants, “Remember to meet us here at dawn.” He slides on his coat, straightening the collar before strolling out of the room, leaving LeFou lying there.

A feeling of shame rises up in his chest, and as he sits up, a feeling of guilt quickly follows. Tears well up in his eyes and he slips on his shoes, muffling his sobs with his hand.

The burning ache on his stomach is no longer arousing, just a painful reminder.

LeFou wipes himself on the sheet as well; pulling his up his pants just under the bite, careful of the irritated skin, and clasps his suspenders. Before he pulls down his shirt completely, he can’t help but stare in objective horror at the bruised, purple skin - each indent of teeth an angry violet.

He gathers up the sheet, stuffing it in a closet before leaving. He takes the back alleys as much as he can, unwilling to run into anyone. He doesn’t, thankfully, it seems most of the townspeople are still at the tavern.

When he enters the small cottage, his mother is boiling water in the kettle, sorting through their various boxes of tea leaves trying to decide which one she wanted. Hearing him come in, she turned towards him, smiling. She notices his upset expression though, and her face turns to concern, standing as quickly as she could and reaching out to him.

She clasped one of his hands and before she could even ask him if he was alright, he burst into tears. She wraps her arms around him as he clings to her, wailing into her shoulder as he had done when he was a child.

“What’s the matter Liev? Are you hurt?” He pulls away from her, clenching his eyes shut to stop the flow of tears and shakes his head vigorously.

She grabs a tea cloth, rubbing at his face and wiping his nose – it made him truly feel childish. He takes a deep inhale around the lump in his throat, pushing her hand away.

His eyes are still watery but he’s done shedding tears, “I messed up, and I hurt someone but they don’t know it yet.”

She pulls him to the table to sit, her expression no less worried, “Who…did you hurt?” She asks carefully, in a town one might use on a frightened child or an injured animal.

He clenches his eyes shut again, as the shame crawls up his spine, “Stanley.” She nods, but doesn’t ask any more questions, something he is grateful for.

He definitely does not want to tell his mother about how he rutted with Gaston on a couch; the embarrassment would kill him.

“Why don’t you have a cup of tea with me? Peppermint should settle your nerves.” She gets out two teacups for them – truly the only reminder of her husband’s wealthy past, preparing the tea in the teapot.

He thanks her when she pours him a cup, pouring herself one before sitting down. He sips timidly at the hot liquid, careful not to burn himself when he remembers what he must tell his mother.

“I can’t clean houses tomorrow,” He says casually, “Will you inform them?” She stares at him with a puzzled look.

“Alright,” She says, setting down her cup, “Should I give them a reason why?”

“I’m going with Gaston and his men when they set up camp,” At the livid expression overcoming his mother’s face, he quickly adds, “I’m marching into battle with them, just staying at the camp. To cook for them and wash their clothes and help them – well, mostly help Gaston.”

She settles, but he can see the irritation in her eyes and the way her mouth pinched did not hide her sour mood.

“You better come home all in one piece,” She scolds after a moment of silence, “If you come back in worse shape than you left, I’ll beat the remaining good out of you.” She huffs  
and he hides his smile at the empty threat behind his cup.

He packs that night, after his bath, taking his clothes that are somewhat worse for wear but not falling apart.

When LeFou lays down that night though, he can’t go to sleep. He thinks about Stanley’s hurt face when he tells him and he thinks about the indifferent air about Gaston when he walked out of the room, LeFou reaches down and lays his hand over the bite mark, feeling the warm skin through his shirt and the ever present burn.

He forces himself to close his eyes, clear his mind, and think of nothing but his own heartbeat.

LeFou’s eyes snap open, grey twilight is coming in through the shutters and he sighs in relief. He can’t help but feel anxious for the day’s events. At some point, he’d have to tell Stanley, whenever they could be alone together again.

He changes quietly, not wanting to wake up his mother. The trousers he wears are a little more high-waisted than the ones he wore yesterday and they rub uncomfortably against the wound on his stomach. He winces, but moves on, not willing to look for another pair in the midst of dressing. He brushes out his hair; he doesn’t braid it, just tying it back with a ribbon. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he makes his way towards Gaston’s house, watching the sky light up with bright pinks and oranges as he walked.

He’s tired, yawning and rubbing his eyes, but the walk slowly wakes him up, the chilled air nipping at his ears and fingers.

When he reaches Gaston’s house, horses and carts are scattered about in front of it, several men milling about, some eating, most just talking. He walks nervously past them into the house, not bothering to knock.

In the sitting room he had cleaned, a group of fifteen or so men are gathered around one of the many round top tables about the house, dragged in from another room. LeFou is pretty sure it’s the one from where Gaston’s tutor taught him, from the various scratched grooves on one side. In the middle of it all is Gaston, as well as some men from the village, including Tom, Dick, and – his heart sinks at the sight of Stanley standing beside Dick.

Gaston is huddled over something on the table, scratching at it will a quill. LeFou worms his way through to the center, standing opposite of Stanley. Gaston looks up briefly, smiling when he sees LeFou.

“Ah, good,” He turns to his co-captain, “Bernard, tell the men loitering outside to come in so they’ll know the strategy.”

The stout man mutters, “Yes, sir,” in a voice so deep it gives LeFou goosebumps, then pushes his way through the group to go outside.

With Gaston leaning up he can see what he was scribbling on. It a map of Villeneuve and the surrounding forests.

He sees symbols and lines but doesn’t know what they mean. He can feel Stanley staring at him but can’t bring himself to look at him, keeping his gaze set on the table.

When Bernard came back with the remainder of men in tow, Gaston starts in on his strategy.

“Thanks to LeFou and Stanley, we know that their camp is somewhere in this radius,” He plants his finger on the map, circling around an area southwest of the town, “Bernard and I will go scouting and once we learn of the exact location, we’ll return to camp – which will be located here. Men from the village have volunteered will lead four groups of seven of you through this area. We’re going to ambush them on all sides, the east and north sides will start with the cannons, wipe out as many men as possible. When Bernard and I give the signal, cease fire, and the west and south side will charge in on horses or foot. Once these groups have made contact, the groups at the east and north will also charge in, two men are to stay behind to guard the cannons.

“Our main target is Almeida, their leader. From information gathered, he’s incredibly tall, has a blind eye, missing an ear, brown hair. Once he’s dead, they’re very likely to surrender, but we’re not going to rely on that – marauders are men of little morals, they may continue to attack to shed as much French blood as possible. Jean-Baptiste and Roux will remain at camp with LeFou and Stanley, who have volunteered to be camp-de-aides.”

Two men, who LeFou assumes are Jean-Baptiste and Roux, roll their eyes. They’re lanky, average height, kind of scrawny – probably somewhat green.

LeFou’s heart beats nervously at the thought of him and Stanley being, for the most part, alone. He knows he has to tell Stanley, unable to even think of an alternative, and the anticipation kills him. He presses to fingers against the burning skin of the bite, grounding himself.

Gaston notices and his eyes flit from LeFou’s stomach to his face, before turning to his men, “I trust you’ll all be ready to head out in five minutes?”

A chorus of “Yes, Sir!” echoed about as they all scrambled.

LeFou rode in the back of a cart with Tom, Dick, Stanley, and Lawrence. Lawrence was Tom’s cousin and the butcher, though you wouldn’t think it from his thin, wiry frame. The cart was near the front, full of cooking supplies and utensils, along with the tarp and poles for the tents. It was crowded and he was squished in between the side of the cart and Stanley, who had given up on conversation after LeFou would offer no more than grunts to his questions.

The ride was not particularly long, but to LeFou is felt like it would never end. He could tell he was only making things worse with Stanley, but he felt like he didn’t deserve Stanley’s reassurances and it would be better if Stanley would only stop being friendly to him.

The clearing Gaston chooses to set up camp is a familiar one; he remembers camping here with Gaston before Gaston’s mother died.

Quickly, Gaston whisks him off to help him set up his tent. Years of camping with Gaston allows him to set it up with ease while Gaston “directed”. It felt nostalgic in the worst ways. When the tent was set up to Gaston’s expectations, he made LeFou set up his cot and a desk that was little more than a tall bench inside, along with another straw mat for LeFou to sleep on.

“Go help out the other men, I’m going to talk to Bernard.” He turned on his heel and strutted away, LeFou unable to tear his eyes away from his friend’s broad back.  
A hand clapping on his shoulder breaks him out of his reverie. Startled, he looks up behind him at the smiling face of Tom.

“Wanna help us with the other tents?” He smiles back and nods his head, trailing after the older man.

Setting up the tents with the others isn’t completely bad, they poke fun at his name and his relationship with their captain, but for the most part it seems out of jest, not spite.  
Stanley won’t talk to him, won’t look his way and LeFou feels relieved somewhat even with the lead ball in his stomach.

Gaston and Bernard don’t return until evening, after LeFou and Stanley make soup for the soldiers. It’s not so much them working together as LeFou gently instructing Stanley ways to help him and Stanley silently doing it.

They look tired, each with a folded map in their hand. Everyone gathers around, to see where the enemies’ camp is located.

It’s not very far from a large river that ran near Villeneuve, and Gaston recounts his plan, making some changes for the terrain.

Gaston motions for LeFou to follow him after they’ve gone over the details several times, down to who would be in what group led by which villager, and Bernard and Gaston had eaten their fill.

LeFou follows obediently and they go back to Gaston’s tent. He removes his hat, setting it on the desk next to the map, before heavily sitting on his cot. He’s tense, his eyes hard but also far off.

“Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, did you?” LeFou worries, checking Gaston for any visible injuries as well as he could with just his eyes.

“No,” Gaston says sharply, his jaw is clenching. LeFou becomes nervous, hands twisting about. He’s has never felt more distanced from his friend than he did now; before Gaston left, LeFou knew what would be upsetting his friend and how to help in some way. He had no clue now.

“What’s…bothering you then,” LeFou says this slowly, afraid to says the wrong thing in the wrong tone of voice.

Gaston sighs and he purses his lips together briefly before speaking, “I don’t like the way Stanley looks at you.”

LeFou’s eyebrows furrow together, he doesn’t understand why Gaston would be so fixated on Stanley, “What do you mean?”

Gaston stands suddenly and stalks over to LeFou, who flinches, but Gaston goes past him, sticking his head out of the tent to look around.

Turning back around, he crowds LeFou, forcing the other to crane his neck.

“As long as I’m here, I don’t want you to hang around him. I don’t trust him or his intentions,” He growls lowly.

“His intentions…?” LeFou knows that Gaston does not know the true nature of his and Stanley’s relationship, and fear for Stanley makes him keep quiet, “He’s not…not like that.”

Gaston sighs, his demeanor physically relaxing, a smirk coming about his face – though LeFou is not fooled, he knows that it is a front. He places his hands upon LeFou’s shoulders, “My dear LeFou, I know you are naïve to the world, but I am not. He looks at you with the look a starving man would have seeing bread.”

LeFou feels an odd mix of emotions. He knows Stanley has always looked upon him with affection, recognizing it after Stanley admitted his feelings, but why would Gaston lie to him about Stanley, and besides, Stanley was cross with him anyways – it was doubtful Stanley would even still have love for him. He knew Stanley definitely would not have feelings for him after he tells him of what happened with Gaston.

“You need to stay by my side while I’m around,” Gaston says after a moment, his hands sliding off of LeFou’s shoulders, “When I’m not, be careful around him.”

He could not say no to Gaston, even after all this time, “Alright, I will.” He’s quiet, glancing from Gaston’s face to the ground.

“Good,” Gaston says sitting back down on his cot, roughly toeing off his boots and slipping out of his jacket.

“LeFou, rub my feet for me, will you?” He asks, lounging back against the cot.

LeFou can’t say no to Gaston.

~~

The next morning LeFou awoke to the sound of Gaston getting out of bed. He sits up quickly, shaking somewhat from the sudden awakening. The sun was not up, not even starting to rise.

“Hurry and get dressed so you can make breakfast for my soldiers,” Gaston orders, stripping himself of his nightclothes to begin dressing.

LeFou watches dumbly for a moment, memorized by the shifting muscles in Gaston’s back.

“LeFou!” Gaston snaps over his shoulder. LeFou jumps slightly, hurrying to dress himself.

Turning around in the middle of tugging his shirt over his head he catches Gaston staring at his stomach. No doubt at the bite mark, still angry and red, burning with every light touch.

He pulls his shirt down quickly and Gaston’s eyes snap to his face.

“Go make them breakfast,” Gaston demands, “An army marches on its stomach.” LeFou eyes advert; he scurries out before Gaston can become cross.

Stanley is already awake, in the midst of a yawn, when LeFou comes about to the fire pit. A large basket of eggs sits at his feet, along with a tub of cereal.

“Oatmeal and eggs?” LeFou asks, furrowing his brows. Stanley’s jaw snaps shut and he stares at LeFou sleepily, his eyes watery.

“They were gifted from villagers,” Stanley explains, “The soldiers were excited so I guess they haven’t had much variety.”

LeFou shrugs, setting the large cast iron skillet atop the steel grate, starting the fire and letting it build. Stanley chatted for a moment about his mother and her dramatics and LeFou laughed, mentioning her reaction in the tavern.

“It took Dick prying her off of me to be free,” Stanley says, his expression an endearing mix of tired and annoyed as he cracks eggs into the skillet. LeFou goes to reply, but feels someone’s eyes on him.

He turns to look, catching Gaston talking to Bernard a small distance away. He thinks he must just be paranoid, but Gaston’s eyes catch his and he knows it’s not paranoia. He stares open mouthed, before Stanley announces he’s going to fill the pot for the oatmeal.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” He mutters, paying attention to the eggs, nudging them with the wooden spatula so they won’t stick. He tries to focus on the eggs, now completely filling the pan with still most of the basket left. He counts them, noting that there’s enough for everybody to have two, keeping himself from blatantly staring back at Gaston.

Stanley returns, holding the heavy pot with both hands, clearly struggling some but not wanting to admit it. LeFou helps him despite his protests and they get the handle secure on the thick hook to hold it in place over the fire.

Slowly one by one men are emerging from their tents, some already puffing on their pipes. They empty the cereal into the pot when the water is boiling, stirring the starchy oats.

Some soldiers gather around waiting for the meal to be done, joking at each other and occasionally drawing LeFou and Stanley into their conversation. It made LeFou feel relaxed, and Stanley, despite his usual shyness, was joshing right back at them. It was nice and made LeFou feel likeable.

When one of the soldiers, Jean-Baptiste or Roux, LeFou didn’t know which one was which, made a snide remark about LeFou’s relationship with their Captain, saying something to the extent that LeFou would bend over as soon as the Captain asked him to, that feeling disappeared. He felt his face flush at the words, dread creeping over him, as everyone laughed.

Stanley’s face went red too, his expression turning furious. However right as he opened his mouth, Gaston, seemingly having just walked up before LeFou had been insulted, knocked the other man to the ground.

“I’d suggest watching your mouth for future reference, before speaking about a close friend of mine in such a vile manner, Roux.” Gaston stood with his arms crossed, staring coldly down at the soldier.

“Yes, Captain,” Roux gasped, the blood from his nose dripping onto the grass.

“Do you have any qualms you wish to speak up about? Now would be the time.”

“No, Captain,” He shakes his head gently causing the blood to spatter.

“LeFou is a good friend of mine. To question his integrity is to question me,” Gaston’s jaw is clenching, his nostrils flaring, “You aren’t questioning me, are you, Roux?”

“No, Captain.”

Gaston nudges the kneeling man with his boot harshly, “Laps, Roux.”

“H-how many, Sir?” The soldiers collectively wince at the question.

“Until you throw up,” Gaston spits through his teeth. Roux scurries up and away from the group, ready to put his distance between the Captain and himself.

With that Gaston sends a piercing glare around to the other soldiers, who have gone still and avoid eye-contact.

“Anybody else have an issue they’d like to speak up about? No? Good.” He stomps away and everyone collectively lets out a sigh of relief.

“What a dumb bastard,” A soldier with a mustache and blonde hair laments, shaking his head. A chorus of agreements followed and someone laughed.

“I thought Captain was gonna rip his head off,” He chortled, “Though it’s nice not being on the receiving end of that temper.”

Stanley stirred the oats quietly asking, “Temper?” Stanley, and the rest of the villagers, knew of Gaston’s temper, he just wanted to know the extent of it.

LeFou kept his gaze trained on the eggs, noticing the centers were starting to solidify.

“Aye, Captain’s temper is well known. Roux is fresh-blood though, he probably underestimated the stories. Most know not to question his orders or cross him unless they want to get hurt.”

“One soldier died after stoking the Cap’n’s temper,” The blonde, mustached soldier chimes in, “Poor bastard caught him after a battle where a lot of Captain Gaston’s men were lost. We won, but nobody was really celebrating. He told the Captain it was on him, all of those men’s deaths were his fault. The man’s brother had died during it and he was piss drunk but it made Gaston so furious that he beat that man so baldly you couldn’t even recognized him. Died a few hours later in the infirmary.”

LeFou froze, his heart beating in his ears. He knew that Gaston would be forced to kill other men – it was the military, there was war – but one of his own men? It made LeFou feel nauseous.

Unbothered by the dark story, the soldiers quickly switched to another topic. Stanley and LeFou looked at each other, Stanley’s face portraying what LeFou felt. The eggs were finally done and the oatmeal was a bit watery but it was softened. They gave portions to each of the eager soldiers. When Bernard and Gaston came around, LeFou couldn’t bring himself to look Gaston in the eye. He had some oatmeal himself, but couldn’t eat very much, Stanley didn’t either. It was apparent that they were the only ones bothered by it.  
LeFou was hoping they would leave without incident; he and Stanley had a clear list of chores to do and the menial labor would take his mind away from Gaston. However, before they were set off to ride, Gaston called him to his tent.

Apprehensively, with the feeling of bile rising in his throat, he followed the Captain to the secluded area. His hands shook when Gaston turned to him, the dimmed light in the tent casting shadows over Gaston’s face.

“What’s wrong with you?” It’s the first thing out of Gaston’s mouth, growled low from his throat. It caught LeFou off guard but he knew what Gaston was talking about.

Deny, deny, deny. He follows his first instinct and he stutters out, “I – I don’t know-”

“Don’t,” Gaston interrupts sharply, “You’ve been avoiding me, looking like a fucking rabbit when I get close, as if I’m the hound.”

When LeFou doesn’t answer, just stares at Gaston with the same expression he had described, Gaston’s jaw clenches and he places a solid kick against his cot, causing it to turn over.

The sudden crash makes LeFou flinch and Gaston whips around, “Is it Stanley? Is that the reason? Did he say something? Get into your head?”

“No!” He doesn’t mean to shout, but Gaston’s fixation on his and Stanley’s relationship is grating. Gaston looks more pissed off than before, taken aback like he didn’t expect LeFou to yell.

Before Gaston can carry on with his accusations, LeFou starts in, “You- I heard-“ His confidence fails him before he can actually say it.

“Heard what?” He snaps, stalking toward LeFou, “What did you hear?”

LeFou hearts thumps wildly in his chest, and the words escape him before Gaston can get too close to him, “You killed someone!” Gaston scoffs.

“I’ve killed many men, LeFou, I’m a captain – you don’t-”

“It was a fellow soldier,” LeFou interrupts, “You beat him to death – with your hands. One of your own!” LeFou’s eyebrows furrowed as he spoke.

Gaston stares at him, his anger melting away to be replaced by a cold façade.

“It was war, LeFou, I don’t expect you to understand.”

LeFou stares in horror at his friend’s indifference. Not a hint of remorse.

“While I’m gone, try to refrain yourself from necking with Stanley,” He sneers, at LeFou’s outraged expression, he continues, “I saw you two making eyes. You need to be careful  
about it. Men in the army have been lynched for that.”

The surge of irritation and disgust at his friend caused him to lash out, “You don’t know anything about me and Stanley! Leave him alone!” Gaston rolled his eyes and turns to pace as LeFou continued, “No! You claim he something that he’s not! Not everyone is unkind or immoral, not everyone is like…like you.”

Gaston stops suddenly, turning his slowly to look upon LeFou. The fury is back in his eyes but not volatile like before.

“You haven’t experienced immoral men, LeFou,” He grits through his teeth, “Don’t be foolish and compare me to them. Because I have seen depravity, I have seen wickedness.”  
LeFou stares at his friend, unnerved.

After a moment his gives himself courage to speak, “What happened to you Gaston?” Tears well up in his eyes, he doesn’t want to cry but the emotion of the conversation builds in him.

“Nothing, LeFou,” Gaston says quietly, “I’m still me.”

“You’re not,” LeFou insists, his voice breaking, “You’re not my friend, you’re not the Gaston I knew.”

Gaston sighs, shoulders drooping. He replies tiredly, “I am, LeFou, I am your friend, I am still Gaston. But I grew up. I shed my naiveties the first time I shot another man, the first time I saw a fellow soldier’s legs be amputated, the first time someone’s blood touched my skin and stained my clothes.”

LeFou trembled under the gaze of his friend, staring up at Gaston with mix of emotions.

He walks forward, reaching for LeFou’s hand. LeFou flinches and Gaston’s face softens, he grips LeFou’s hand lightly, “Please do not think differently of me because of what I went through. You are my one true friend LeFou.”

LeFou sighs softly, “I-I won’t, I’m sorry, Gaston. I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Gaston smiles at him, “I know it’s because you’ve never left the village, that you can’t even imagine these types of things. But it’s the way the world is.”

He pulls away, “I need to go. My men are counting on me.” He walks over to the desk and snatches the map and out past LeFou, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin.

LeFou’s shoulders droop as he sighs and rubs his face. The emotional whiplash the conversation tired him. How could he have been so foolish? Of course Gaston would not be the same after war. He shouldn’t have let himself feel like that, he’d only hurt Gaston.

He fixed the cot, straightened the clothes and bags, trying to just organize it some. He walks out a moment later; seeing Stanley standing there, watching the groups march off.

Stanley turns to him, “I saw Roux puke. I’ve never actually seen that happen before - someone puking from running.”

“Okay,” LeFou doesn’t understand why Stanley would bring it up, “Is he alright?”

Stanley shrugs, “Jean-Baptiste laughed at him and gave him something to eat, so I think so.”

That made LeFou feel a bit better.

Stanley moves to walk away, “Should we get started on laundry then?” He’s wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant prospect of laundry, but his eyes are twinkling.

“Actually,” LeFou says, stopping Stanley in his tracks, “I’ve…I’ve got something to tell you.”

Stanley turns to face him once more, his face neutral and his voice slightly shaky, “Alright? What is it?”

LeFou shakes his head, “Away from the others,” he swallows thickly. They move onto the outskirts of camp, deciding to get water for the laundry while they talked.

The large cast iron, still starchy from the oatmeal, is placed under the pump that had been there for as long as LeFou and Gaston had been exploring these woods.

“I’m sorry, Stanley,” LeFou starts, “I know I said I would try but-“

Stanley’s face turns gloomy and he cuts in, “But not while he’s around? It’s alright I kind of knew that would happen he showed his face.” He spits the last few words like curses, like the thought of Gaston’s face was objectively awful.

LeFou inhales deeply through his nose, still pumping water, “It’s…it’s not just that. When I left with Gaston, the night before…”

He explains what happened and Stanley stares into the pot, not looking up once. When LeFou finishes, he still doesn’t look LeFou in the face.

“Stanley,” He pleads, “Say something, please.”

Stanley sighs before replying, his voice controlled and clipped, “Well, it’s not like we were together anyways. So I suppose you could do what you wanted to with Gaston,” He shrugs, “Don’t make much difference.”

LeFou knows Stanley is upset. He can tell by the tremble of his hands, his shoulders sagging, his bottom lip being abused between his teeth.

“Stanley-”

“Let’s get the laundry, okay?” Stanley stares him in the face, “Let’s just do the chores we’re meant to.”

“Alright,” He concedes quietly. They pump the water in silence, and when the pot is full Stanley carries it to the fire pit by himself.

Jean-Baptiste, the shorter of the two soldiers left to guard camp is very friendly and helps them gather the dirty laundry of the soldiers.

There’s not as much as LeFou imagined there’d be, but definitely more than he and his mother go through in a week.

Despite the earlier transgressions, Roux turns out to be friendly too. He and Jean-Baptiste take turns patrolling, when they’re not patrolling they sit with Stanley and LeFou and talk. It makes the laundry go by faster and they’re done with it when the sun is sitting high in the sky.

 

Hanging up on temporary clothing lines between each tent, they make lunch for the two soldiers. Stanley isn’t ignoring him, but the clipped, cold words hurt more than if he was.

It’s when they’re eating that they hear cannon fire in the distance, faint but clear. LeFou perks up, looking in the direction it was coming from, Stanley as well, interest and anxiety overcoming his face.

“Eh, don’t worry ‘bout them,” Jean-Baptiste says, “A couple o’ dinky marauders ain’t going to be more than some shit on the bottom of Cap’n’s boot. He faced some impossible odds an’ won. There’s a reason he’s become a Captain so quickly.”

LeFou sits down, looking at the soldier, interested, “How did…Gaston become a captain?”

Stanley isn’t looking at any of them, but LeFou knows he’s listening.

“Well, I wasn’t there, but Bernard and Fabre were, and I’ve heard the stories,” He starts, “They was in Poland. It was along the Rhine and Bavarians ambushed them. It lasted for weeks, a lot of Frenchman died. Many captains had lost their lives and the one in charge of Cap’n Gaston’s sentry was shot almost immediately. Gaston’s quick thinking and stealth saved a lot of men. Duke FitzJames leading the operation recognized Gaston’s talent and promoted him to Captain after he saved the Duke’s life.”

“He saved the Duke’s life?”

Jean-Baptiste nods, “A defecting soldier went mad and tried to murder the Duke, Gaston stabbed him before he could even get close to the Duke.”

LeFou shifts. The cannon fire has stopped, and LeFou strains his ears to hear something, but he can’t hear anything.

The anxiety builds, but he has no way to relieve himself of it. When lunch is over, they finish their chores, while Roux and Jean-Baptiste patrol together.

It is later, when he hears the pounding footsteps and the beat of hooves, is his anxiety quelled. He runs out to meet them, Stanley joining him as Roux and Jean-Claude salute the incoming soldiers.

When they get closer, LeFou sees something that makes his heart drop; four men, including Bernard, carrying the limp body of Gaston. The front of his white shirt is stained dark  
with blood.

“No,” He whimpers. His knees feel weak and his vision tunnels onto Gaston’s body.

“What happened?” He cries out, rushing to them, “What happened to him?”

Gaston lifts his head weakly, muttering LeFou’s name before falling silent. His skin is pale, covered in a thick sheen of sweat.

He tears his horror filled eyes from Gaston to Bernard, whose face is grim set.

“What happened?” He asks once more. Bernard grimaces and shifts his hold on Gaston.

“He was stabbed in the left shoulder,” Bernard says, “We don’t-“

“Where’s your medic? Can’t he help him?” LeFou interrupts.

Bernard looks irritated, all the while they’re making their way to Gaston’s tent.

He shakes his head, “There is no medic. The one supposed to leave with us had fallen ill and we were in a rush to leave, we have no medic.”

“Stop, let me see it,” He demands and the men groan and Gaston’s head lolls as they set him down, pulling his jacket aside to show his ruined, blood soaked shirt.  
LeFou gingerly pulled the shirt to the side, wincing at Gaston’s groan.

“I-I can stitch this!” He says; it’s less of a statement to the soldiers and an encouragement for himself. He could do this, he could.

They pick support him once more start to carry him back to the tent. All the while, LeFou listing off the things he need, “A needle, thick thread, bandages, clothes, water, and liquor!”

The men lay Gaston down and rush back out to gather the supplies.

“Bernard, I need his jacket and shirt off.” He’s jittery, a mix of anxiety and cold fear that makes him lightheaded.

Bernard helps him sit Gaston up and work the clothes off of his shoulders. They rip the shirt in haste, carefully peeling it off of the wound.

It’s then that LeFou can get a proper look, “I need a light,” He urges, examining it.

Bernard holds the small lantern above it and LeFou swallows thickly; it wasn’t wide or particularly long, but he couldn’t tell how deep it was and the constant gushing blood warped his perception.

Using Gaston’s ruined shirt, he presses it against the wound, hoping the pressure would slow down the blood flow.

Gaston groans and his opens his eyes halfway, weakly lifting his head, “LeFou?”

“I’m here, Gaston, I’m here,” His voice breaks, and tears well up in his eyes, but he blinks them away. He can’t have anything clouding his vision.

Gaston smiles and his head falls back against the cot, “I’m cold LeFou, really cold.”

“I’ll find some blankets, just relax, okay?” He chokes out, the lump in his throat ever present.

“Where are we?” Gaston asks, his eyes trained on LeFou.

“In your tent,” LeFou replies.

“Why is it so cold?” He asks again and his teeth start chattering as his body shivers.

“You’re hurt, Gaston,” LeFou swallows thickly, “You got hurt, it’s okay though. You’ll be fine.” He stares down at the blood soaked shirt, blood covering his hands. The words sound disingenuous to his own ears, but Gaston only nods.

“I’m tired,” He whispers, “Can you see what Mother wants, LeFou? She’s…so...” His words slow and his eyelids droop.  
LeFou looks up at Bernard just as the soldiers rush back in, supplies in hand.

He picks up the small bottle of…gin? He thinks it’s gin from the dry smell and clear color. He pours it gratuitously over the wound and Gaston writhes and yells, swinging his arm out at LeFou.

“Hold him down!” LeFou demands as he dodges the flailing appendage, “I need him to be still.” He grabs a thick brown rag that one of the soldiers brought, twisting it until it’s stiff, “Get his mouth open, so he doesn’t bite his tongue.”

The blonde, mustached soldier holds Gaston’s jaw open; who’s not lucid enough to comprehend what’s around him, jerking under their grip.

LeFou places the rag between his teeth, “Keep that in his mouth.” Once the soldier had adjusted his grip to keep Gaston’s head immobile and the rag steady, LeFou takes another rag and dips it in the water, wiping down his hands quickly to remove most of the dried blood. He wishes he had soap but he doesn’t so he pours a small puddle of gin into his hand and rubs into his skin, wincing as it stung some shallow nicks and his cuticles. It drips onto his shoes and he shakes them to quickly dry.

LeFou threads the needle, somewhat difficult in the odd lighting with his shaky hands. It takes three tries for him to get it, but he quickly knots it and then pours the gin over the needle and thread. The gin sloshes and spills mostly on the ground, but wets the needle and thread.

LeFou pinches the edges of the wound together, flinching as Gaston shakes in their grip and he screams through the gag.

He clenches his jaw, furrowing his brow in concentration, “Steady,” He whispers to himself. The first push of the needle makes Gaston cry out and LeFou tries to steal his nerves, blocking out Gaston’s screams. The push of the needle through the thick skin makes bile rise in LeFou throat and he swallows it down.

By the sixth or seventh stitch, Gaston has grown quiet, the only sound were his labored breaths.

The bleeding has grown sluggish, the thick, white string now an odd mix of red and brown. He realizes he didn’t ask for scissors and asks someone for a knife.

The six soldiers, who until then had been watching in a rapt, uneasy fashion, jump at the question, patting down their trousers for a knife.

Bernard rolls his eyes procuring a small paring knife which LeFou accepts with a shaky hand and a quiet thanks.

He cuts the string, tying it tightly against the skin so the stitching wouldn’t become loose. He lets out a deep sigh, as though he had been holding his breath and had not realized.

His back and neck are stiff from being in the same position and he dips another rag in the water, wiping and patting at the blood soaked skin, rinsing it, and repeating until the skin is clean.

They couldn’t find any bandages but someone had a scarf they were willing to part with, so LeFou wraps the thin cotton around the wound until it’s completely covered, with the  
help of the soldiers propping Gaston up.

“We should send someone for the village physician,” He says tiredly, the heaviness spreading through his skull, “Tom or Dick or Lawrence, one of them.”

Bernard nods, motioning for the other soldiers to follow him. They leave and the weight of the situation hits LeFou.

This time when the tears come, he lets them fall. Pressing the heels of his hands harshly against his eyes, taking in shaky deep breaths, he tries to calm himself in vain. The dried blood on his palms and fingers scratch his face and he shudders.

Moving to the pail, he stares at the murky red water and the blood soaked rags. He wants to wash his hands, but the thought of washing them in water cloudy with Gaston’s blood makes him sick to his stomach.

There’s only a small amount of gin left in the bottle, so he takes a swig – his eyes watering at the numbing burn and dry taste. It does little to calm his stomach, but his shoulders finally relax. There’s a couple of unused rags so he soaks one of them in the remaining gin and sets to work, scrubbing his palms and cleaning the congealed blood out from under his nails.

He picks up the bucket carefully and takes it outside to dump. He pours carefully, not willing to get any on him.

He looks up as soon as he finished, only to be startled by Stanley. He flinches as Stanley takes in the sight of the bloody water and LeFou’s stressed appearance.

“Lawrence is dead,” The words are short and to the point, Stanley’s eyes are red and misty, like he just finished crying.

LeFou pauses for a moment before asking, “Is Tom okay?” He can’t imagine that Tom is actually okay, but as long as he’s not self-destructive, LeFou can’t bring himself to be completely concerned.

Stanley shrugs, “He volunteered to get the physician for Gaston, I haven’t had a chance to talk to him neither has Dick.”

LeFou sighs; he’s so tired. How had these last few days been more exciting than his entire life?

Stanley shifts before asking, “How is Gaston?” It’s a genuine question to LeFou’s surprise.

“Breathing,” LeFou shrugs, “He’s not bleeding so much, but he’s not awake.” There’s a pause of silence, LeFou staring off into the distance while Stanley keeps his gaze focused on LeFou.

He inhales shakily, “He…heard his mother’s voice before he passed out,” His voice shakes and he grimaces, “Gaston said before his mother died that she had been talking to her  
mother.” He can’t stop the flow of tears and the sob that escapes his throat.

Stanley hugs him, pulling him close and LeFou drops the bucket to wrap his arms around Stanley. The warmth and comfort of his friend calms his nerves and he rests his head against Stanley’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” He murmurs.

Stanley sighs against his hair, “You’re my friend LeFou, I’ll always be here for you.”

LeFou closes his eyes, lament and guilt and dread clouding his chest like a heavy, black thundercloud. He pulls away, rubbing at his face and picks the bucket up from the ground.

“I need to…” He trails off, but Stanley nods knowingly.

“It’s okay, I need to finish the stew for their dinner,” He replies, “I’ll bring you some later.”

LeFou smiles weakly, “Thank you.” He’s not hungry, but he sees the gesture for what it is.

The tent is darker with only a single lit candle than what it is outside and his eyes take a moment to adjust. The dark of the tent makes him want to nap, his eyelids drooping and his shoulder slumping. The thought of not being there when Gaston woke up or, even worse, the thought of Gaston dying while he slept made him too anxious to sleep.

He gathers the dirty rags instead and the now empty bottle of gin, setting it in the bucket and setting the bucket by the opening.

Gaston is shivering still and in LeFou’s hard focus, he had stopped noticing. He feels a bit guilty for it and pulls the thick wool blanket over Gaston, pausing for a moment before adding his own thinner blanket on top, tucking the edges underneath Gaston so he wouldn’t flail violently when he awoke and tear the stitches.

He smooths the hair back from Gaston’s forehead, still damp with sweat. He starts feeling lightheaded, like his head isn’t attached to his body at all; it frightens him and he digs his fingers into the bite mark. The burn of it brings him back down into his body and he sits heavily.

He doesn’t know how long it is, but the sudden rush of horse hooves and hurried voices marks the arrival of the physician.

Bernard, Tom, and Dr. Blanc enter the tent. Their eyes land on LeFou. Their eyes are full of pity and he doesn’t understand why. Did he truly look as haggard as he felt? He stands and pulls down the covers to expose the wrapped shoulder.

He goes to unwrap it, but Bernard waves him off, cutting in to do it himself.

“Go outside, soak in the sunshine,” He demands. He stands for a moment not quite processing the words until Tom wraps his arm around LeFou’s shoulders.  
“Come on, LeFou, you deserve a break,” His normal jovial voice is flat. LeFou can hear the doctor and Bernard muttering behind him, but trying to understand what they’re saying is too much effort, so he allows himself to be whisked away.

They don’t join the rest of the men, instead going to sit at the edge of the clearing away from anyone.

Tom sighs, digging through his small satchel.

LeFou wants to say he’s sorry about Lawrence, but he doesn’t say it, for reasons he didn’t know why.

Tom finally finds what he’s looking for, his small wooden pipe and a small tin of dried tobacco. He backs it tightly before lighting it deftly with his shaking hands.

LeFou stands silent as he puffs from it, staring around and up at the tall trees.

“Take a puff, it’ll help,” Tom’s voice breaks the silence and LeFou looks from his face to the smoking pipe.

He takes it from Tom, holding it clumsily with his fingers. He inhales but doesn’t quite know what he’s doing so he just holds it in his mouth before exhaling.

Tom gives a small laugh, but there’s no humor behind it. He plucks the pipe from LeFou and takes a couple large hits, before passing it back to LeFou

After a couple puffs, despite not inhaling properly, it did help. He was relaxed somewhat. He refuses the pipe when Tom offers, who shrugs and finishes it until there’s nothing but ash.

“I’m sorry about Lawrence,” He finally says and sees Tom’s forehead wrinkle and his shoulders slump. He worries he said the wrong thing, but Tom smiles while pursing his lips and pats LeFou on the shoulder.

“Thank you,” He voice is a little raspy, and he clears his throat before saying, “I’m sorry about Gaston.”

LeFou shakes his head, “Gaston won’t-“

Tom interrupts him, “I’m sorry that you had to go through that. You did a really good job back there, given the circumstances, Bernard told me about it.”

LeFou doesn’t know how to accept the praise, so he just shrugs uncomfortably. The tobacco made him mouth dry and left an acrid taste. Tom goes to load his pipe once more and they sit in silence. It isn’t until Tom also smokes it to ash that they make their way back to Gaston’s tent, Tom clapping him on the shoulder briefly before going off towards the other soldiers.

LeFou enters the tent, Bernard is gone but the doctor is still there, sitting on the stool beside Gaston’s bed. He was covered in more blankets than before and still, the occasional shiver disturbed his sleep.

“Will he be alright?” He asks, his heart beating quick in his chest.

Blanc smiled gently at him, “He should be fine as long as the wound is kept clean and infection doesn’t set in. He even woke up briefly, wondering where you were.”

LeFou feels relieved, but also guilty he wasn’t there when Gaston awoke.

“He…” LeFou pauses for a moment, “He heard his mother talking to him. I thought it meant for sure-” He stops suddenly, but Blanc nods. He knows just as LeFou does that Gaston’s mother had been dead for a while, but his face does not turn concerned.

“That’s normal for men who lose quite a bit of blood,” He says, “They peer into Heaven before God decides whether He wants them or not. It wasn’t Gaston’s time.”

LeFou sighs in relief, the strain starting to slip away.

“When he awakes fully, make sure he eats,” Blanc stands as he says this, “You did a good job LeFou, a little rough, but given the circumstances, you did well.”

LeFou gives a small, halfhearted smile at the praise and the physician pats his shoulder as he passes him, walking out of the tent.

Gaston does awake, later that night. LeFou gives him water and Gaston eats two apples before falling asleep once more. Blanc brought actually bandages with him, along with a salve that should help keep away infection and help it heal. It smells pungently herbal and makes LeFou’s eyes water, but he still slathers it on the stitched would with care, wrapping the bandages firmly.

He washes his hands before doing so as well. Blanc gives him an odd look but LeFou shrugs it off as a “family habit” and he lets it go.

It isn’t long before Gaston is awake for more than a few hours at a time.

They decided to stay at the camp grounds until Gaston was healed enough to ride back to Versailles. It’s only a couple of days before Gaston is ignoring Blanc’s orders of bedrest and is out and about.

LeFou doesn’t leave Gaston’s side for a moment and when Blanc leaves to go back to the village, it’s LeFou who is cleaning his wound and inspecting it and bandaging it.

Tom and Dick are leaving, taking Stanley with them. He hasn’t spoken with them beyond small talk and Stanley usually avoids his company all together while Gaston is near. It bothers LeFou but Stanley visits LeFou while Gaston is out talking to Bernard.

He hears the rustle of the tent flaps and looks up from shirt he’s mending. Otto, the same soldier who had provided the needle and thread to sew Gaston’s shoulder, had a small sewing kit that he had lent to LeFou.

Stanley is standing there, his hands fidgeting as he stares at LeFou with unblinking eyes.

LeFou doesn’t quite know how to greet him so he just smiles and waves him over, scooting over on his bed roll to Stanley could sit as well if he pleased.

Stanley sighs softly and sits beside LeFou, “We’re leaving in a bit, thought I’d come say goodbye.”

LeFou tilts his head, “It won’t be that long before I come back.”

Stanley shrugs, “I know, but it felt bad to leave without saying something.” LeFou puts the shirt down beside him and wraps his arms around Stanley’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Stanley,” He murmurs into Stanley’s shoulder as Stanley wraps his arms around LeFou.

“I know.”

Stanley pulls away first and LeFou lets go, his hands gripping his pants.

“I just,” Stanley sighs, “I just wish…” He trails off and LeFou looks at him curiously, tilting his head.

“What?”

Stanley shakes his head, “It’s nothing, just wishful thinking.”

“Okay,” LeFou lets him drop it, and they sit in silence for a moment.

“I never thanked you, you know,” LeFou says, peering at Stanley with a heartfelt expression.

Stanley’s eyebrows furrow as he tilts his head, “Hm? What for?”

“You helped me become comfortable with myself,” LeFou laughs humorlessly, “You helped me a lot, actually.”

Stanley shrugs, “I just really liked you, LeFou. I wanted you to like me back too.”

“Maybe we can try again one day?” It isn’t supposed to be an empty offer, but Stanley knows it might as well be one.

He shakes his head, “No, not while he’s around.”

“He’s going back to Versailles, Stanley, he’s not staying.”

Stanley sighs through his nose, “How long will he be gone though? Even if he doesn’t ever come back,” LeFou feels a pain in his chest at the thought of Gaston never coming back, “You’ll only ever think of him.”

Stanley shrugs again. LeFou grabs his hand, “I’m sorry.”

Stanley squeezes his hand, “It’s okay, you can’t help who you love.”

LeFou smiles, feeling a lump form in his throat, “You’ll always be my friend.”

Stanley nods, “I’ll always be your friend, LeFou.”

The sudden noise of Gaston entering the tent, loudly saying, “LeFou, my bandages-” He stops suddenly at the scene before him, “Oh, Stanley, I think Dick is looking for you.” It could be true but the cold manor Gaston says it makes it clear what the real intentions behind it are.

Stanley stands, slipping his hand from LeFou’s, smiling softly at him, “See you around, LeFou.” He ducks around Gaston, avoiding the other’s intense glare.

LeFou stands, picking the shirt up as well and laying it on the desk.

Gaston gives him a pointed look before sitting heavily on the bed and LeFou sighs before turning to face Gaston, “What’s wrong with your bandages? I just changed them this morning.”

Gaston shifts, slowly removing his shirt, best he could with only arm.  
“They’ve loosened,” He grunts out after he accidentally worries the wound.

LeFou tightens them, trying not to let his touches linger too long.

Gaston stops him before he turns away, grabbing his wrist lightly.

“What were you and Stanley talking about?” His gaze is clear and his voice level – the question doesn’t frighten LeFou, only annoys him some.

He shrugs, “Stanley was just saying goodbye.”

Gaston let’s go of his wrist, so he turns back to the shirt, untangling the string so he could continue sewing it.

“Let me see it.”

The sudden demand almost startles him and he turns to Gaston, confusion written all over his face, “See what?”

“The bite mark.”

The blood rushes to his face and he sputters for a moment, “Why?” Gaston has made no mention of their…tryst since it happened. LeFou himself had not thought about it since before Gaston had almost died.

Gaston stares at him, “I want to see it.” He says this like it’s a reasonable explanation, like it doesn’t cause a more questions to pop into his mind.

But he doesn’t ask any of them, instead raising his shirt and vest as one to show the now faded bruising.

It’s not dark like it was, now a shades of yellow and green - the teeth indents long gone.

Gaston reaches out and grabs LeFou’s arm to pull him closer. LeFou steps forward without resistance and Gaston brushes his hand over the mark, his eyes locked on it.

“Does it hurt?” Gaston asks.

LeFou shakes his head even though Gaston isn’t looking at him, “Not anymore.” It didn’t even hurt if LeFou dug his fingers into it, something that slowly became disappointing.

Gaston’s head dips forward and he presses his lips to it. LeFou’s breath catches in his throat and he anticipates another bite.

But it doesn’t come, instead Gaston leans back, pulling LeFou’s shirt down for him.

“Kiss me.”

LeFou hesitates only for a moment, leaning down and covering Gaston’s lips with his own, his eyes slipping closed.

It lasts only for a couple seconds, LeFou pulling away and standing straight again.

This was enough for Gaston and he starts to pull his shirt on. LeFou clears his throat lightly and turns back to the shirt, still waiting pitifully to be fixed.

Gaston’s horse had been killed in battle it seems, so when the wound hardly jostles him anymore and they decide to head back, he goes with LeFou into town to buy one from one of the farmers.

It’s a long walk, but LeFou likes it. Gaston seems to enjoy it as well, finally stretching his legs beyond the few rounds Bernard would allow him around the campground.

LeFou is almost relieved to go back to his quiet life with his mother; between cleaning their laundry, cooking their meals, and doting on Gaston, he felt like the only peace he got was when everyone laid down to sleep and even then, if Gaston awoke with pains he’d be up in a moment’s notice to help.

Mostly he’s sad to see Gaston go. The past two weeks of his friend’s attention was addicting and the thought of it ending is almost unbearable – like taking a glass of water from a thirsty man who’d only been able to sip. So he enjoys these last hours they have together.

Gaston has bought a mare from one of the farmers and is walking LeFou back to cottage, LeFou reminding him to keep the wound clean and to see an actual doctor when he got back to Versailles.

Gaston smiled and laughed and nodded at LeFou’s scolding.

When they stopped in front of LeFou’s home, Gaston dressed in his uniform, leading a horse, LeFou couldn’t stop himself from making the comparison of a young wife saying her goodbyes to her husband going off to war.

He wasn’t a wife, certainly not Gaston’s wife, and squashed the thought.

Gaston hands him a small bag of coins and LeFou takes it. He looks up at Gaston confused and Gaston laughs and reminded him that he had said he would pay LeFou for cleaning his house.

“But…this is too much Gaston, this is nearly triple-”

Gaston shrugs, “I just figured it might help in the coming months.”

LeFou thanks him, his face burning – somewhat at the embarrassment of accepting so much money and somewhat from the fact that it was Gaston who gave him this money. Like Gaston was providing for him.

After a brief silence, Gaston breaks it.

“I will come back,” Gaston says after a moment, his eyes soft, “Someday when they deem me unfit to serve, I’ll come back to Villeneuve.”

LeFou smiles, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Gaston’s head tilts down as though he means to kiss LeFou’s forehead, but instead he just says, “I know.”

He mounts his horse and with a final grin, he spurs his mount on, kicking up dust as he races down the dirt path.

LeFou sighs, the ache in his heart just as great as it had been the first time and goes inside.

LeFou’s life practically goes back to normal, despite the interruption in his routine. He keeps the garden well, the house clean, takes care of his mother. It’s familiar and safe.

Except for the dreams and flashbacks and moments wondering what would be different if had gone with Gaston to join the army.

Sometimes someone’s sharp whistle to call for their dog or horse or child will make him remember the man falling in the dirt, the blood stains on Stanley’s shoes. Walking past the  
slaughterhouse and smelling the coppery scent of blood will make his heart pound in his chest as hard as it did when Gaston bled and bled. The smell of gin makes him so sick to his stomach that Tom and Dick don’t even drink it around him anymore.

He dreams of Gaston being stabbed all the way through his body and Stanley being shot, he dreams of Lawrence bleeding out on the ground and Tom shaking his shoulders and begging him to help but he can only stand and watch.

And after all of it, he wonders if Gaston is no longer bothered by any of these.

Does he get nervous around knives? Does he dream about the man he beat to death and his soldiers all dying around him?

LeFou doesn’t think so.

It’s an odd sort of revelation. It doesn’t make things any easier to understand or less weighty in his mind, it just makes gives him an odd sort of numbness that let him finally stop thinking about it.

He goes about his day, cleaning houses, cooking for his mother, hanging around Tom, Dick, and Stanley.

Tom is different for a while, puffs on his pipe more, drinks more, sings less. It’s not for a couple of months before he laughs without alcohol, can smile without the haze of tobacco in his lungs.

His life's routine is normal, unchanged.

He just wished he could say the same thing about himself.

It’s a cold November morning, snow had fallen the night before, though not for the first time in the year. LeFou’s mother isn’t feeling well, but since her joints began to bother her, the winter was her worst months. He kept the fire hot, fluffing the pillows for her to sit upon the wooden chair with some comfort. Even yesterday, he awoke her early for church because he knew she would dress considerably slower and they were still late.

It didn’t bother him as much as it worried him, and using some of his earnings he bought some thick yarn and made her mittens.

Sitting in her chair, she gazed into the fire while sipping tea, not having an appetite for anything.

“I’ll be back at noon, alright Mama?” He kneels in front of her and she looks down and smiles at him.

“Alright, Liev,” She says, but he could tell her mind was not there with him.

“After that I have to leave again, okay? I’m going to help Mr. Duvall with the stables,” He says, he knows he’ll have to repeat himself again when he comes home for lunch, but he tells her anyways.

She’s been forgetting more and more as the days went on. It worried LeFou, but when he asked Mr. Blanc about it, the man had said it happened to all feeble minded people at her  
age. That had irritated him so much, he thought he could have throttled the physician. She wasn’t that old and she certainly wasn’t feeble minded!

Though when he returned home for lunch that day, and he studied her face while they ate, it came over him like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on is head. He couldn’t remember the last time he had properly looked at his mother, in his memories she had been the same since he could remember! But suddenly he takes in the grey hair, the wrinkles, her thin skin, the way her hands were so knotted and spotted.

After eating some of the peas and not much else he had cooked for them – she ate four bites in the time it took him to finish his entire plate – she announced that she didn’t feel well and she would like to take a nap.

“Alright, Mama,” He glances at her plates and asks, “Are you sure you’re not hungry still?”

She shakes her head while hobbling over to the bed. He sighs in resignation, helping her lay down and covering her with the blanket.

“Just rest, Mama, I’ll be back in two hours tops,” He promises, her eyes already closed before he can finish his sentence.

Cleaning stables had never been fun for him. He hated the way horses smelled, hated the way they would nip at his shoulder, and ever since Gaston had told him that story of the blood crazed mare, he always got the willies.

But Mr. Duvall had a good sized stable and had not wanted to clean it entirely by himself. So when LeFou had gone to him looking for work, that’s what he gave LeFou to do;  
money was tight in the winter for many and less people thought his cleaning services were worth it. LeFou needed something to make up for less money, and even though it was dealing with horses, LeFou would gladly take it without a complaint.

Even with Mr. Duvall’s help of replacing the straw, it takes him longer than he thought it would. By the time he’s done, he wants to go home, grab a change of clothes and go to the baths. He reeks of horse and of all their unfortunate by products, luckily it was toned down by the frigid air.

Mr. Duvall thanked him with a handful of francs and a merry goodbye and he marched himself home. The tips of his fingers and ears were red and hurting, the tip of his nose completely numb.

The first thing he notices when he enters is the fire had gone out, only sparse glowing embers remained. As such it was cold and he added a couple logs and stoked it back to life.

The second was that his mother was still in bed.

“Mama,” He whispered, touching her cheek. It was cold as the rest of the room and he felt bad that she hadn’t been able to get up and restore the fire herself.

“Mama,” He says, a bit louder, almost a yell. Still she does not stir and he realizes with horror that he could not hear her breathe.

“No! No, no, no,” He whispers, “Mama, please get up!”

She does not move and the tears fall down his cheeks as his sobs echo through the cottage.

Blanc confirms what he knew, and the Father comes to speak with him, to give him comfort even though no amount of promises that she was happily with God or apologies could make the excruciating ache in his heart go away.

They cart her body off and he sits on her bed and cries.

Word travels fast in Villeneuve and it’s not two hours later, when he still sitting on her bed in the cold darkened room, that Stanley is there.

“I’m sorry,” Is what he says after stoking the fire and putting on water for tea.

LeFou doesn’t say anything so neither does Stanley.

“I’ll take her bedding with me,” Stanley offers after they’ve both had at least three cups of tea, “Ma will wash them for you, so you don’t have to.”

“That would be-” He pauses clearing his throat, “That would be appreciated, thank you.”

“I have news for you,” Stanley starts again after the silence starts again, gathering their cups to put them in the small basin.

“Hm?” He stares at the table but isn’t looking at it, not really.

“Gaston sent word to Tom, asking for him to prepare his house for his return,” Stanley pauses, but LeFou stares at him with no emotion so he just continues, “You know fixing it up and everything, getting rid of the rats. He said to ask you to clean it. He’s paying Tom quite a bit of money, and Tom is gonna split it with Dick for his help, so,” He shrugs, “You know, he’d probably pay you too.”

It made sense to LeFou, Tom was the only one out of all them that could read as well as write.

“When is he coming back?” LeFou asks. It doesn’t lessen the pain in his heart, but it does clear his head some.

“He said he should be here by Sunday,” Stanley says, standing beside where LeFou sat, stroking his hair.

LeFou hummed and wondered if he wanted to do it or not. He decided it would be good reprieve from thinking of his mother and would let him out of the almost suffocating home.

“I guess,” He muttered, leaning against Stanley, “When did Tom and Dick start working?”

“They were gonna start tomorrow,” Stanley takes the brush from the table and gently brushes it through LeFou’s hair, “Tom just got the letter this morning, I was gonna tell you tomorrow, but then I heard.”

LeFou sighs and closes his eyes, “I’ll be over as well, in the afternoon.”

The ground was hard from the winter, it would take them quite a bit of time to dig out a plot for her.

That night he puts his mat in front of the fire and cries until there are no more tears.

When they lay her down into the ground, her casket is simple and wooden, her funeral attended by most of the town. Once the sermon is done, he is the first to leave. He cannot bear the thought of seeing his mother buried.

He meets Tom and Dick at Gaston’s house, where they had been working together in silence for the last few days. This time they have a bottle of whisky, and he drinks until the whisky doesn’t burn and his heart doesn’t ache. Still, he has a job to do and afterwards he cleans so hard that by the time he’s done, he’s practically sober again.

He goes from being numb and lifeless to aching and sobbing with very little prompting. Tom and Dick don’t mention his tears, and they give him his privacy when he can’t stop the sobs.

He asked Tom if Gaston gave a reason for his return, Tom shrugs and shakes his head. LeFou should feel happy that his friend is coming back, at the very least curious why Gaston would come back so soon. But coming home after scrubbing floors until his hands hurt to curl into his empty dark house just perpetuates the pain of his loss and he can’t focus on anything else.

When Sunday came, he awoke very early. He debated to going to Mass or not for several minutes. By the time he had decided to, and got himself dressed and there, Mass had started and everyone was seated. He enters quietly - very little people turn their heads. He sits in the back.

When everybody rises, he stays seated. He hears the sermon, but doesn’t pay enough attention. He doesn’t realize Mass is over until everyone stands around him.

Mass is usually relaxing, as long as the Father isn’t preaching on hellfire and sin, but he stills feels as he did before, empty except for the ache in his chest.

He wonders how Gaston dealt with this pain so easily. How had he been able to laugh the next day knowing his mother was in the dirt? How could he get out of bed so easily knowing her laughter would not greet him?

He decides to go to Gaston’s house, the only part not clean was the last bit of the cellar. The cellar was large, used for storing food in the cool dry air, as well as the alcohol.

The racks used to hold bottles were still dusty and webbed. So he dusted and scrubbed, not caring that he’d later have to scrub out the dust and dirt stains on his Sunday best.

When he was done, he sat in the soft soil, glad his pants were dark in color, so he wouldn’t have to scrub all that hard. The cold, dark cellar helps him relax, even though the cold makes him shiver. It makes him feel like he doesn’t exist, like he is in his own little world, and everything beyond the wine racks and wood walls doesn’t exist.

His daydream is rudely interrupted by the sounds of footsteps above him. He wonders if it’s Tom and Dick, coming to make any last minute repairs. The house had not been damaged profusely, some parts had been weakened due to age and some of the roof and shudders had been damaged from storms, but for the most part it had been easy work.

He brushes the seat of his pants and makes his way up the stairs to see if they want his help.

He exits the kitchens, making his way to the front room; sure enough there is Tom and Dick, but also Gaston. He’d forgotten momentarily that Gaston would be home today.

LeFou suddenly feels self-conscious of his sweaty, dirty appearance. His words die in his throat before they even leave and he swallows thickly.

Gaston grins at him, amusement in his eyes as he takes in his dirty appearance.

“I was cleaning in the cellar,” He explains, before looking away.

Gaston nods his head and then the three of them move on, Tom and Dick explaining what they fixed about the house. LeFou slips away, walking back to his empty house. He doesn’t want to be there, but he doesn’t want to be anywhere, so at least in the comfort of his home he can do what he pleases away from prying eyes.

He does not open the shudders, the sunlight creeping in around the corners. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust from the bright winter day. But once they do there is nothing new for him to see. The few dishes he’s used and has not washed in the basin, his dirty clothes gathered in the corner, his mother’s clean bedding folded and stacked on the end of the mattress, and his own bed in front of the fireplace.

He restarts the fire, moving his mat away so it would catch. He goes around back, hoping the pipe would not be frozen and he could get water from the well. It is difficult, the water in his bucket little more than slush, but washing those dishes and clothes and preparing a bath for himself sounds lovely. His dishes are clean and drying on the mantle, and quickly his clothes are as well. He washes his clothes in the smaller basin for ease, not wanting to fill the large tub and empty it all by himself twice.

He starts on bath water for himself, sighing at the idea of smelling fresh and the soft feeling the soap gave his skin. He hadn’t bathed since the night of his mother’s death, which was unusual for him. He usually visited the public baths at least three or four times a week.

Once the tub had been filled, he sat in it, keeping his back towards the fire and sighing in the comfort the warm water gave him.

Someone entering his home brought his attention back and the sight of his friend quickly calmed his beating heart.

“Gaston,” He said surprised, curling his knees to his chest to make himself feel less vulnerable, “You frightened me.” He shivered from the breeze of cold air let in.

“I knocked,” Gaston replies, glancing about the room, “Where is your mother?”

The lump in his throat is back, and he chokes out, “She died, Gaston. About a week ago.”

Gaston turns him, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

LeFou shrugs, looking into the water, “Why are you home, Gaston?”

Gaston sighs, sitting heavily onto one of the chairs at the table, studying LeFou intensely. LeFou turns his head towards him, notices the look and flushes.

“My shoulder, it’s weak. I can barely hold a gun, much less aim it.”

LeFou furrows his brow, concern filling his eyes.

“They’ve tried for months after it healed. I showed no sign of improving, they released me.”

“I’m sorry, Gaston,” He whispers.

Gaston shrugs, “I only joined because of my father, but I haven’t gotten word from him in months. I’m relieved to be home.”

LeFou smiles, but it’s brief and forced. He scrubs at his face and dips under the water briefly to wet his hair. He doesn’t have much soap, having been low for a while, so he conserves it, only washing his body. He’s almost embarrassed to wash in front of Gaston. Sure, he had done many times in his youth, but that was when they were both naked and washing. Gaston just sits and observes his every move now, dressed and sitting in a chair.

“LeFou.”

“Hm?” He looks up at Gaston, who’d been sitting quietly for a while.

“Are you done?” He looks bored, leaning back with his arms crossed and his eyelids drooped.

“I…I guess,” LeFou says, the water had grown lukewarm and normally he’d be getting out by now.

“Get out then.” But under Gaston’s gaze he feels self-conscious. He knows that gaze.

Still, he listens to the command, stepping out of the bath and wrapping a towel around himself.

“Don’t dress yet,” Gaston says, as LeFou started gathering clothing, “Come here.”

LeFou drops the clothing and pauses, staring at Gaston. When Gaston meets his gaze, he goes to stand in front of Gaston, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Drop your towel.”

LeFou knew he would say it but he hesitates nonetheless. His towel drops and Gaston leisurely looks him up and down.

LeFou flushes, and Gaston stands suddenly, pulling LeFou to him.

He brushes LeFou’s hair behind his ear, kissing his forehead. He cups LeFou’s face and LeFou leans up in anticipation. Gaston leans down and presses his lips firmly against the other’s. LeFou sighs softly, gripping Gaston’s coat in his hands.

LeFou shivers, somewhat from being cold but mostly from the contact, but Gaston pulls away. He takes note of LeFou’s still dripping hair and the slight chill in the room.

“Are you cold?” He asks, already moving to direct them in front of the fire.

LeFou shrugs, but moves along with him; they sit between the metal tub and the fireplace, Gaston’s arm wrapped around LeFou’s shoulders.

Once settled, Gaston kisses him once more. It grows more heated until Gaston finally urges LeFou to settle onto his lap. He undoes his trousers and they’re grinding against one another, LeFou gasping at the lovely friction.

After they’ve both finished, LeFou gets dressed and Gaston helps him haul the large tub outside to dump.

Gaston says he’ll be back in a bit before leaving back out into the cold weather. The wind had picked up quite a bit, beating down on the small house. It wasn’t even a half hour before Gaston was back.

LeFou had fried eggs for Gaston over the fire, knowing the man would probably be hungry. Sure enough Gaston was happy to see the food, offering a large bottle of whiskey. Presumably what he had left for.

LeFou shivers at the memories of so long ago. Maybe they were only a few years ago, but to him it felt like ages. Like another lifetime altogether.

After they’ve eaten and started to drink, the heaviness of his heart comes back full force. He wants to cry about his mother, but doesn’t want to in front of Gaston.

“How was it so easy for you?” He asks, and at Gaston’s quizzical look, he clarifies, “With your ma’s death? How did it not feel like the end of the world?”

Gaston swallows the rest of his drink down in one go – a move that would make LeFou’s eyes water at the very least- and answers with a simple, “I dunno, I had you. Didn’t really need anybody else, least of all Mother.”

LeFou chews on his lip. Before Gaston, it had always been him and his mother. Without Gaston it had always been him and his mother.

Without her it seemed so empty.

“After this shitty weather let’s up, let’s go hunting,” Gaston says out of the blue, staring grimly at the rattling shutters.

LeFou scrunched his face in confusion, “Your shoulder though.”

Gaston shrugs, “Bows are lighter than blunderbusses LeFou.”

LeFou thinks for a moment, before leaning forward, “I think the army gave up on you too soon,” Gaston scoffs but LeFou hurries on, “After this weather stops, I think you should start trying again.”

Gaston slumps back against the chair, “Do you think I could do it?”

LeFou nods, “Of course you can! You’re Gaston!”

After that a new pattern is formed. LeFou stops cleaning houses for money, instead spending his time with Gaston. Gaston slowly starts being able to aim a gun straight, to shoot down ducks, rabbits, and deer with his aim. Gaston starts becoming popular amongst the villagers again – not hard to do after LeFou tells the dramatic story of his victory over the marauders, reminding them of how doomed they would be if not for the army Captain. Gaston’s house becomes beautiful again, lively with a maid and farmers using his fields and horses and cows in his stables.

LeFou is there for him, cheering him on with stories and songs and encouraging words.

It feels right again. It feels good.

That is until Gaston gets restless again. Usually, all it takes is a long hunting trip where he takes down some rather dangerous game. Even though they’ve hunted boar and bear and even the odd elk, he’s still on edge.

It’s then when Gaston is abruptly hit with an epiphany. That he needs a wife and children to carry on his name.

LeFou’s stomach sinks when he thinks about it. He knows when Gaston gets a wife his attention to LeFou will dwindle. He knows that the...more physical aspect of their relationship, though increasingly rare as it is, will come to a stop.

But he can’t stop Gaston, who chases every girl they meet – every eligible bachelorette is up for grabs and then thrown away as soon as they make a wrong move or comment. He breaks hearts as fast he captures them.

When Gaston has gone through every girl in the village, at the age of 26, and still not satisfied, LeFou starts to relax. It doesn’t mean he’s stopped going on and on about it, in fact he talks about it more and more each passing day. The only time he doesn’t bring it up is when he seeks the touch of LeFou’s hands or the warmth of his mouth.

But with no real threat, as Gaston had stopped going for anybody and everybody, instead browsing amongst women in other villages with none catching his eye, LeFou was sure that his place in Gaston’s life was cemented.

Until Belle arrived.

Belle did justice to her name. LeFou knew that first hand, he knew she was kind and smart – much smarter than most in the village. So when Gaston set his eyes on her, LeFou wasn’t worried. Gaston may have been considered somewhat liberal by not caring what anyone did so long it didn’t concern him in such a town where people could be shunned by the slightest difference, but Belle had such a bohemian, intelligent air about her that it would take someone much more mild mannered and scholarly to woo her.

LeFou was there during the initial conversation between the two, cut off from the conversation as soon as he introduced himself. He could see the rising distress in the girl’s eyes when Gaston switched from the topic of Belle’s father and home life to the idea of marriage and child rearing.

He felt bad for her, so he distracted Gaston enough that she could slip away quietly. He was there the first rejection, some of the subsequent ones as well. With every refusal the girl made to be a part of Gaston’s life, the stronger the desire for her to be his grew.

It was annoying at first, but soon it became clear enough to LeFou that it would be done as soon as Belle agreed. So he started to help Gaston, directing him towards her when she might be in distress, offering hints on what to buy her, what to say to her. He even once tripped her so she would fall and Gaston could catch her.

That ended with her yanking away from Gaston’s embrace so fast that she actually fell again and stomped away covered in mud. He’d felt really bad about it and hadn’t tried it again.

When Gaston started going to her house time to time, it would always be Maurice opening the door, claiming Belle was busy or sick and that she couldn’t talk. So he started going about when he knew Maurice wasn’t there.

When her dad left for the second year in a row to go to the fair and sell his wares, Gaston had actually been aware this time.

It was after that rejection that Gaston dragged LeFou back to his cottage. It was the most physical Gaston had been with him since they were younger, grabbed at him and kissed him until his lips were bruised, finished in his mouth, and kissed him some more. He bit and groped until LeFou was nearly over the edge and even stroked him until he came.

Usually Gaston was drunk when he touched LeFou at all anymore, rarely ever wanting LeFou’s company sober. LeFou thought this was a good sign; that maybe Gaston was getting over this obsession of Belle, that maybe he could return LeFou feelings.

He had been very wrong.

It only escalated. With Maurice’s outrageous claims of a beast and Gaston clamoring to help the old man.

The nerve wracking thought of Maurice dying in the woods kept him awake at night. It gave him nightmares when slept- the man coming back to life and dragging him to hell was common or watching him stab Gaston where Almeida had and watching Gaston stab him back until both men were lying bleeding in the dirt or worse, his mother saying she hated what he’d become, what he’d done – he was complicit in murder.

Five days later, when Maurice is alive and well, standing in the tavern, the relief flows through him. It’s when the man scrambles for help, reaching out for LeFou to tell the truth –

Gaston grabs him by the chin, looks at him the way he does when he and LeFou are intimate, when LeFou feels like Gaston actually loves him.

-And LeFou crumbles.

He can’t say no to Gaston. He can lie, watch a man die, and ruin relationships for Gaston. But he can’t say no.

It’s just after the battle when he has become reacquainted with a very human Mrs. Potts and her son, as well as the toilet, the harpsichord, and the coatrack. They all apologize and he apologizes back. He’s not angry or scared of them. The battle feels cloudy in his mind, dull like a dream after one wakes.

When Belle and the Bea- Prince Adam return downstairs and everyone is being reunited with their loved ones, LeFou feels lost. His heart sinks when Belle pulls him aside. He’s so angry at Gaston – his heart hurt more than anything, dull and aching in his chest.

He expected Belle to say the Beast had killed him or he had fallen to his death, but she just shakes her head, saying he’d ran.

For once in his life, Gaston had been afraid.

The words he’d last said to LeFou play ironically in his mind. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. LeFou feels bitter.

Stanley, still in a dress, wig, and makeup, makes eye contact across the room. His smile from talking to Madame Garderobe falters.

He excuses himself and LeFou internally panics when Stanley comes his way. He and Stanley rarely talk anymore, they’re nowhere near as close as they used to be, only managing to even joke with one another when they’re both drunk.

Still, Stanley comes and sits with him on the steps.

“You look nice.” It’s the first thing out of his mouth, but he means it.

“Thank you.” He smiles at LeFou, gently, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal.

They sit in silence.

Stanley takes ahold of his hand, grasping it tightly even in front of all these people.

 _“Do you want to be next?”_ flashes through his mind.

In spite of the fear crawling up his spine, he squeezes Stanley’s hand and lays his head on Stanley’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've literally been working on this chapter since before I even posted the first chapter, so the fact that it's finally done and I can finally wrap this story up is a big fucking relief lmao 
> 
> I have one more chapter planned!

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is pretty short compared to the next chapter. And I would like to know if you guys would rather have the second chapter as it is (It's not finished but at 11K words, so I think it might be upwards of 20K) or if it would be easier to read broken into two or three smaller chapters, please let me know in the comments below!
> 
> Criticisms are welcomed as long as they are respectful and kudos are appreciated!


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